


Counters

by louisestrange



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:16:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 116,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louisestrange/pseuds/louisestrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a bleak dystopian AU, Dave  and Kurt are among millions who pedal exercise bikes to create energy and earn credits to buy their chance out of the drudgery. They're drawn together in a world that won't let them have what they want.  Can they stick to the rules or will they risk their chance to get out - to live their dreams - in order to be together now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based loosely on a one-off drama called 'Fifteen Million Merits' that aired on Channel 4 in the UK as part of the 'Black Mirror' series, but you don’t need to have seen that for the fic to work, as I plan on changing many aspects of the story anyway (including the ending).
> 
> Warnings: Angst, some drug use, a little violence and a side of Seblaine.

Dave wakes to the crowing of the electronic cockerel he knows he'll see as soon as he opens his eyes. He knows the chrono will read 7am and he know that when he sits up and yawns, his Counter will be there, yawning back at him, wearing the new Bieste's Bears pajamas he'd downloaded the week before.

He knows his digits will read 14,950,215. He knows that he'll spend five credits on toothpaste and watch the ad stream play on the mirrorscreen as he brushes his teeth. He'll spend fifteen credits on antiperspirant and dress in his grey jersey sweatpants and t-shirt.

He knows that he'll go to the floor and sit on his bike – right side of the floor, tenth in – and pedal for four hours while watching Pro-Virtua football, then eat a vending machine Wonderbar, drink fluoridated water and pedal for another four hours. He knows he'll pass the 15,000,000 mark and come back to his pod and spend his freshly earned credits to enrol for the Pro-Virtua football tryouts and he'll celebrate this little victory by watching Puck's Play stream and jerking off to the latest vid from Blaine or Sam or whatever new twink they have this week until lights out.

He knows because he's been working towards this for the last 174 days; working towards another fifteen million credits and a chance at something else, something better. He's not the best player, he knows that much, he failed his first try, but that doesn't mean he can't get better. Everyone needs something to aim for, right? Some glimmer of hope, a light at the end of the long, dark tunnel that is the pedalling years. It's what his Dad always told him - to try, to strive, to hope – while he can. He's almost one year into his five, and he isn't any good at anything else. He has to give it his all before it's time to produce; time to settle down and get locked into whatever life the system deems most appropriate for him. If he allows himself to think of the future, he dreads his twenty-third birthday. He needs to break out before then. He doesn't want to be stuck in the mid-zones forever, like his Dad. On the floor all day without anything real to go home to, living vicariously through his Counter. He wants a shot at something real.

He's established a firm routine: maintaining eight hours-a-day of pedalling, making eighty thousand credits per day and keeping spending to a minimum. It's easy, really. There are twenty-four on his floor, in his pattern, and he doesn't care much for any of them. He keeps to himself, mostly. It's easier that way. He knows who he'll see every day and when; who'll be in the elevator, which bikes they'll ride, when they'll break. He nods hello and smiles at them, exchange pleasantries at the vendors but he's never been big on conversation. He can deal with Counters better than people, generally, so he stays quiet, focused, keeps his buds in his ears and pedals. That's why he's the only one among them on his second fifteen this year.

And yeah, there are days when it's not enough. Days when he wishes there was something, someone real in his life, and all he wants to do is stay in his pod and eat rehydrated meat and watch Puck's Play stream but, if he ends up in a jumpsuit, sweeping floors and picking up other people's shit, there'll be plenty of time for that. He'd rather be lonely now than alone forever.

~*~

Kurt has to remind himself that, despite how nervous he feels now, this is a good thing. It's his only shot at getting out of the mid-zones. He doesn't want be do mechanics, like his Dad, for the rest of his life. He's a good singer and, when he earns enough credits to buy a ticket for Star Shot, he knows he can do it. He'll show the judges that he has what it takes to be the next Rachel Berry. All he wants is to sing, it's all he's ever wanted. And to be able to choose his own clothes, to have things, to live in the edge zone, and have a view...He knows he has what it takes. He's always felt that he was destined for better.

And here he is, just turned eighteen and ready for his first day on the floor, twenty thousand credits to his name. He has a lot of pedalling to do.

He enters the already full elevator and half-smiles at those inside. They don't respond, just look at him quizzically as he squeezes in and they ride to their zone in silence. They exit and he hangs back a little, letting them go ahead so he can find his bearings.

Zone 216 - Floor 23. He follows the signs towards the floor and tries not to show his nerves as he enters 23, glancing around him at the people already pedalling; watching Virtua Sports, playing games, racing other Counters. It looks like...fun. The first few free bikes he finds have red 'Reserved' lights above them, so he keeps going until he finds the free one on the right side, near the end, and climbs on. The seat auto-adjusts to his height and his Counter greets him, smiling back at him from the screen on a virtual bike. It's dressed in plain grey sweats, like he is, and he decides that as soon as he earns enough credits, he's finding his Counter something altogether more stylish to wear. He waves his hand to scroll through the menu and stops at 'Orientation for Newbs'. One hundred credits drain from his digits on the screen and a floor layout appears, his Counter climbs onto a bike and starts pedalling. He follows, but there's no sound. Kurt looks around the screen for a volume option, but even as he motions up with his hand, nothing happens. He stops pedalling and looks for a button on the bike itself, to no avail.

"Volume?" he says in a last ditch attempt towards the screen, on which his Counter is looking pitifully back at him. Images fly across the screen but he's missing the overall lesson.

"You have to wear your buds."

Kurt turns towards the voice and sees the guy on the bike beside him gesture towards his ear. He's big, athletic and kind of handsome, if a little mean looking. Kurt swallows hard and tries not to sound like a complete idiot as he looks blankly back at him.

"I..I don't have any."

The guy sighs and pulls a white plastic bud from his ear. "You have to buy them. From the vendors."

"Oh," Kurt smiles nervously, "I didn't know. They said I didn't have to bring anything...I just got here today."

"No kidding," the guy says flatly, still pedalling, and Kurt feels his cheeks begin to burn. "D'you know where the vendors are?"

"Um, no, but I'll find them," Kurt climbs from his bike and mumbles an embarrassed "Thanks," before rushes back off the floor.

"Hey, wait," he hears a voice behind him and casts a glance back to find the guy off his bike and following him. "I'll show you."

"You don't have to..." Kurt shakes his head and strides indignantly into the corridor. He stops as he realises he has no idea where he's going. He looks around for any indication of where the vendors might be.

The guy follows him and stands by his side when he stops. "I didn't mean to be a dick back there, I'm trying to hit fifteen today, so..." he pauses and shrugs his shoulders, his expression softening, "I could use a break anyway, I'm almost there."

"Okay. Well, thanks." Kurt smiles at him, this guy from a neighboring bike who's taken pity on him and his pathetic newb failings. He sticks out his hand in an awkward offer of a handshake, "I'm Kurt."

"Hi, Kurt," the guy returns both his handshake and his smile and his cheeks go pink. He doesn't look mean anymore. "I'm Dave."


	2. Chapter 2

Dave's settled in his routine; he likes it, most of the time. There'll be plenty of time for all the other stuff when he makes it off the floor. At least, that's what he tells himself to get through days like this.

He makes a habit of ignoring whatever drama plays out around him on the floor - whatever gossip goes around, whoever thinks they've got something to say that's worth hearing – because, when it comes down to it, there's never really much to see. Someone fucks up or gets lucky or opts out and someone else replaces them, but it makes no difference to Dave. Not usually. He still has to pedal, still has to earn enough credits for his own chance to get lucky. And it's simpler if he thinks of it that way, lets him focus on what's important. Usually, he can do without any distractions.

If it had been any other day, or if the newb had sat on any other bike, Dave would never even have looked his way. As it was, he couldn't focus, and he couldn't avoid the kid as he sat, wide-eyed and confused, on the bike beside him, waving in vain at the dash in front of him; Azimio's replacement, looking too green and pathetic to ignore.

When he'd arrived on the floor that morning to find Azimio's bike unlocked, it threw him. They weren't friends, not exactly, but Az, he'd thought, was just like him. He had the same goals as Dave: Pro-Virtua football and better life. He'd been there for a while, had tried out three – maybe four – times, but Dave knew he hadn't got to his next fifteen yet, so there was only one explanation for his absence. He'd opted out.

"He's gone," Santana told him, answering his silent question as he eyed the empty bike between them, climbing onto his own. "He took the jumpsuit." Her tone was impassive and her eyes stayed on her screen as she pedalled. She'd sat on the other side of Az for as long as Dave had been there.

"What happened?" Dave asked, flicking through the menu on his dash.

"Too fat and lazy to stay on the floor." She shrugged. Santana was never the most approachable person, but she looked pissed, even more so than usual. "You can ask him yourself when he's back on the floor in that sweet jumpsuit mopping up your sweat."

And he'd be back soon enough. As if the yellow jumpsuit wasn't humiliating enough for most, those who opted out of pedalling always came back to their own floor to clean up after their former peers. No more credits, no more chances at getting out - a life of servitude. It was a depressing thought; one Dave tried not to dwell on. Az must've had his reasons.

Dave pedalled hard, trying to stay on track for his fifteen, but felt disheartened. It was dumb, he knew, to let Az's situation get to him – he was just another one stuck in mid-zones, after all; one of millions who gave up on their dreams to just...exist. Dave still had a chance - chances. He knew he wouldn't give up so easily. But still, it felt a little too close to home. He'd failed once already. He wondered how many times he could get up and try again before he felt like Az must have this time.

He was twenty thousand away from his fifteen million when he eyed Az's replacement warily, trying to focus on the game playing on his dash. The kid could easily have leaned over and asked for help – Dave on his left, Santana on his right - but he didn't, and Dave wasn't sure whether to be impressed or irritated by his apparent stubbornness. When he started pitching voice commands at the screen in vain, Dave had to help him out.

*

Dave isn't sure why he follows him off the floor, but when he introduces himself – Kurt - and shoots him that smile, he's all of a sudden glad he did. Dave's not sure why something as straightforward as a smile brings heat to his cheeks, but it does, and it's not an unpleasant feeling. It's been a while since anyone smiled at him like that. It's been a while since anyone smiled at him at all.

He shows Kurt to the refectory - a long, brightly lit room lined with silver tables and benches, empty but for the girl in the yellow jumpsuit in the corner, waiting for someone's mess to clean up - and allows himself to look at the other boy as he motions towards the vendors lining the back wall; a touchscreen display of food, clothes and other random supplies,

And fuck, he's cute, Dave thinks as he casts a glance Kurt's way. Really cute. He doesn't usually indulge himself much, off stream, but there's no point in denying it. Dave knows what he likes when it comes to aesthetics, and there isn't much of it around this floor. In spite of the dull grey sweats, Kurt's as good looking as any of the guys he watches on stream; tall and lean with soft features - pretty in a way that stands out on a boy. Maybe that's the real reason he's offering his help but, fuck it if it is, he's been working himself hard for this fifteen. With any luck, he'll only have a few more days on the floor, and if not, well...maybe a little distraction wouldn't hurt, after all.

"They're pretty basic, but you can get buds from here," Dave gestures at the vendor in front of them, "and you should probably get some water or something, too."

"Oh yeah, good thinking," Kurt waves his hand in front of the reader and the screen illuminates, "You've clearly done this before." His digits read 19,900 and an ad starts to play for 'Star Shot' –

 _  
***A man's voice booms, backed by Rachel Berry singing 'I Have a Dream' - "Millions have tried, and millions have failed, but have you got a shot at being the next big star? Watch live every day on the Dream Stream." ***   
_

\- Rachel Berry's face fills the display and Dave watches as Kurt looks wistfully at the screen.

"You like her?" Dave asks him tentatively, unsure of what exactly that look means, or why he suddenly cares, and watches the reflection of the display in Kurt's blue-green eyes.

"Rachel's my inspiration, I want..." Kurt looks at him, smiling and earnest, before quickly turning his gaze back to the screen. "I just like to sing."

Dave gets it. Kurt has a dream of his own. Of course he does; they all do.

"You any good?"

"Well, I hope so, but," Kurt looks back at Dave when the ad ends, replaced by a Wonderbar promo, and smiles, blushing a little. "I guess I won't know 'til I get to fifteen million credits."

Dave smiles back at him and nods at that. There's a look in Kurt's eyes as he speaks - something determined, even self-assured – that belies his bashfulness. Almost everyone who pedals believes they've got a chance, at least at the start. Although he hasn't heard him sing, Dave has a feeling Kurt won't be on the floor for long.

"What do you plan on doing with your fifteen?" Kurt asks, turning back towards the vendor, eyes scanning the icons.

"Football tryout," Dave says, feeling strangely self-conscious.

"Hmm," Kurt eyes Dave, appraisingly, smile playing on his lips, "and are you any good?"

Dave grins, and feels the heat return to his cheeks. "Maybe. I guess we'll see."

Kurt's eyes linger on him for a second, then he turns and taps at the ear bud icon on the screen, his smile fades. "Ouch," he winces as fifteen thousand credits drain from his digits. "Think I'll have to skip that water 'til I've done some pedalling."

Dave snorts and waves his hand in front of the reader on the next vendor along. There's something in the way Kurt looks at him. Something that could definitely be...distracting.

"Here," he taps at the screen, "I'll gift you a bottle of water," Dave grabs the plastic bottle as it drops and steps closer to Kurt, pressing the bottle into his hands.

Kurt's lips move to speak but nothing comes out. His eyelashes flutter as his gaze drops to the cool bottle in his hands. Dave thinks that could definitely become distracting.

"Come on," Dave says as he steps away from the vendors, heading for the refectory door." You can pay me back when you hit the big time."

~*~

Kurt feels better already. He's made a friend, of sorts. An ally, at least. On the way back to the floor, Dave tells him how the pattern works; how he has an allocated twelve hour period in which to do eight hours of pedalling, how he can spend his credits any way he wants, but if he's got a plan to get off the floor, he better start saving. It doesn't sound so bad. He can watch any of the streams, play games, take classes...if he can spare the credits, and all from the comfort of his bike.

He guesses his ass will get used to sitting on that uncomfortable seat all day. Eventually.

Of course, he can't afford to do anything yet, so he's stuck on the default cycle, watching his Counter pedal on a virtual cycle path in a virtual landscape as his digits slowly increase and his legs quickly grow tired. He steals a look at Dave on the bike beside him and watches as his digits multiply at a faster rate. Dave catches his eye and smiles.

"How you doing, newb?"

"Great, I've reached my first milestone," he replies dryly as Dave sits up and cranes his neck to see his digits.

"Wow, five thousand. Impressive." He smirks. "You almost have enough to buy your own water."

"Shut up. This was just my warm up." Kurt grips the handlebars of his bike and adopts what he hopes is a suitably athletic pose. "Now I'm ready for some serious pedalling."

"Oh yeah? I'm five thousand off my fifteen – you wanna race me there?" Dave asks and mimics Kurt's stance. Kurt can't help but notice the flex of his bicep.

"First to earn five thousand?"

"Yeah."

"Um, will it cost me anything?" Kurt realises he's stopped pedalling and starts up again with a sigh.

Dave chuckles, there's a twinkle in his eye. "A little pride, maybe."

"Oh, it's on." Kurt thinks this might be fun, if his pride can handle it.

"Ok, just a second." Dave waves his hand in front of the screen and an alert chimes in Kurt's ear.

 _  
***David Karofsky has requested a race. Accept or Decline?***   
_

Kurt motions to accept and his screen shifts – Dave's Counter appears beside his own on the screen, dressed in a red and white Bieste's Bears football uniform and Kurt's suddenly self conscious that his Counter is still in the grey default pants and shirt.

Kurt smirks, not looking at Dave. "Nice outfit."

"Thanks. I'd say the same, but..."

"Hey, I just got here, barely a credit to my name." Kurt sits up and looks back at Dave, running a hand through his hair for effect. "I can assure you, my Counter is usually fabulous."

The way Dave looks at him then makes Kurt feel like his cheeks are starting to glow. Maybe he's just being friendly, and maybe Kurt's just watched too many movies, but he feels like Dave might be flirting with him. Or maybe, perhaps more likely, it's just wishful thinking. He tells himself the heat he feels prickling his skin is just from the physical exertion.

"Tell you what," Dave hits something on the screen and starts to pedal slowly, his Counter edging ahead of Kurt's. Kurt moves his feet quickly to catch up, "If you win, I'll gift you a new outfit for your Counter."

"You sure?" Kurt asks, "I have expensive taste."

Dave waves his hand at the screen and their respective digits appear on the bottom of Kurt's dash. "I think I can afford it."

"Show off." Kurt giggles and pedals faster. "And what if you win, unlikely though that is?"

Dave looks over at him, that twinkle, whatever it is, still in his eyes. He quickly matches Kurt's pace, their Counters side by side. "I'll think of something."


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt won the race.

Dave let him win, of course. But he could spare the credits to help the newb out. At the end of his day on the floor, after gifting Kurt 75,000 for the V-Mall, his digits read 14,937,175. It wasn't where he'd planned on ending up. Any other day he'd have been pissed about taking a backward step, not reaching his goal, wasting the energy, but not today. He returned to his pod, tired and sweaty and, somehow, content.

He strips off his clothes and shoves them into the laundry chute before stepping into the shower. "Warm, full spray," he commands and closes his eyes as the water pitter-patters against his skin.

Today wouldn't be the day, but he'd worked and waited this long, what would another day matter in the grand scheme of things? He'd pass fifteen tomorrow, buy his tryout ticket, get back on track. He still had his plan, despite today's distraction, however welcome. He could handle one extra day of pedalling. Another day on the floor, beside Kurt. And fuck, if he was honest with himself, it was worth the extra work just to see the smile Kurt threw his way when he let him win.

Dave rubs the sweat from his skin and feels his cock twitch as his hands slide lower, rubbing across his belly and over his hips, the image of Kurt still fresh in his mind.

He always knew he liked guys, but he's never acted on it before. Beyond jacking off to pretty boys on stream, he's never wanted to. No one has ever caught his attention like Kurt had today and, really, he's at a loss to understand it fully. Beyond the pretty eyes, the full lips, the cute ass; there's something about him. Dave's never done anything like that before; whatever it was he was doing with Kurt on the floor today. He doesn't know why it felt so easy.

Dave wonders about Kurt; if he felt anything similar, or if he's just reading too much into a new kid looking for a friend. Even if Kurt was interested, nothing real could happen. The rules were the rules, and Dave always thought he had too much resolve to want to break them. Now, though, as his dick grows hard at the thought of breaking the rules with Kurt, he's not so sure. He ducks out from under the spray of the water and flicks his hand to activate the mirrorscreen, hitting the icon to view Puck's Play stream. The screen displays his preferences - 'male', 'twink', 'oral' - and he mutters "Play" and watches another fifteen thousand credits drain from his digits. Dave lets his mind wander as his hand does the same, watching the vid of Sam Evans on his knees - mouth working on a faceless man's cock, lips stretched around it, moaning – but seeing Kurt's face as he grunts, bucks his hips and spills over his hand.

When he exits the shower, he stops the vid and saves the rest for later, pulls on boxers and lies on his bed, activating the vis-wall to watch the remainder of the game he abandoned earlier to race with Kurt. It's easier to focus on the game here; the players fill his pod, floor to ceiling, larger than life, as the game plays around him, illuminating three of the pod's four walls. It surrounds him - makes his dream feel as though it's right within his reach.

He's only jarred from his concentration an hour or so in when the message icon appears on the wall by his bedside. He pauses the game and motions toward the small envelope icon, which grows in size, producing a still of Kurt's Counter, and reads: **1 message from Kurt Hummel. Open?**

Dave taps the icon to opens the file and the still disappears, replaced by Kurt's full sized Counter, which smiles broadly and spins around once, accompanied by speech bubble that reads, - _'Thank you for the outfit. What do you think?'_

Dave smiles and admires the Counter; he can't help but imagine Kurt wearing the same thing – tight white pants, black boots, striped tee and his hair styled up and away from his face, pompadour style - and it broadens his smile. Kurt's Counter is just that – a Virtual Counterpart, its features strikingly similar to those of its maker.

He brings up his dash and, leaving his own Counter clad in its pajamas, Dave replies - _'Looking good'_ and programs his Counter to wink upon delivery - _'No - fabulous, like you said.'_

Dave reclines on his bed, fretting temporarily about the appropriateness of his response. He watches Kurt's Counter as it blinks and appears to look back at him, smiling, and it sends inconceivable warmth through his body. Maybe it's not the real thing, but looking at Kurt's Counter is as good as he'll get here, so he takes a moment to enjoy the view before restarting his game.

Within a minute, the message icon flashes beside Kurt's Counter and a new speech bubble appears when Dave opens it - _'Told you so. Let me buy you breakfast as a proper thank you. 8:30 in the refectory?'_

Dave usually starts at 7:30 and makes do with a Powerbar as he pedals. But, why not? He can allow himself a little luxury – sleeping in and eating in company - for one day. He reminds himself, maybe one of his last here. He sits up on his bed and can't keep the grin from his face as he replies with a simple - _'See you there'_.

Kurt's reply is almost immediate - _'Great. See you in the morning.'_ Followed quickly by a second message that makes Dave chuckle - _'By breakfast, I mean a breakfast bar. Don't get any fancy ideas, I'm still poor.'_ And a third - accompanied by his counter sticking out its tongue - which makes Dave blush - _'Nice jammies, btw.'_

Dave doesn't reply because, well, what would he say? He drops down onto his back on his bed again, and pulls his eyes away from Kurt's Counter only when an ad starts to stream for Puck's Play. Dave flushes as his thoughts of Kurt interlock with porn for the second time tonight. He closes his eyes.

 ***"View Obstructed. Resume ad stream or Pay to skip?"***

Dave eyes Kurt's sweet-smiling Counter beside him and skips the ad. He doesn't need another excuse to blush when Kurt looks at him the next day. He shuts off his messages, feeling ridiculous at his reluctance to see Kurt's Counter disappear.

He restarts the game and the walls fill with the virtual field, the players, and, usually, he would get pulled back into the action easily. But not tonight; he can't concentrate. Instead, he minimizes the game and half watches as he flicks through the other streams, through his Counter's closet, through the newsfeeds, all the while thoughts drifting to one thing: Kurt.

It feels fucking weird, whatever this is; he just met the guy five hours ago and he's already turned his whole routine upside down. But Dave's been craving something real, someone real, and maybe he's just seeing what he wanted to see, but that smile on Kurt's face had sure felt real, and he'd take as much of it as he could while he had the chance.

~*~

Kurt always sings when he's nervous. And peeing in public restrooms always makes him nervous. Somehow, he feels less self-conscious about people hearing him sing that hearing him urinate.

He exits the stall to find an already familiar frame standing at the sinks, eyes glued to the newsfeed on the mirrorscreen in front of him.

"Good morning," Kurt says, stepping up to the sink beside Dave. His own mirrorscreen clicks on as he approaches and Kurt eyes his reflection with a smile.

"Hey," Dave smiles back, but seems surprised to see him. "Was that you? Back there?"

"Um..." Kurt feels himself blush. This is why he hates public toilets.

"Singing, I mean." Dave adds with a brief eye roll as he realises the implication of what he said.

"Oh. Yes. Sorry, nervous bladder or something, I guess..." Kurt giggles and turns back to finish washing his hands. An ad for some game show starts to play and Kurt shakes his hands and points to the skip icon on screen, watching his digits drop from the penalty fee.

"Flashing your credits today, huh?" Dave raises an eyebrow, teasing.

"Well, when you've got pedalling skills like mine..."

Dave laughs briefly, then his face become more serious. "Anyway, I mean, um, it was...you have a really nice voice."

Kurt feels his cheeks go pink, though he smiles broadly at the compliment. "Thanks, you don't have to say that..."

Dave looks at him earnestly. "I mean it, seriously. You sounded way better than most of the people who go on those shows."

Kurt feels his cheeks burn as he activates the drier and rubs his hands together under the cool flow of air. "Well, good acoustics help, but I hope you're right." He lifts his eyes towards Dave's. "Thank you again."

"You're welcome."

They look at each other for a brief moment, Dave standing idly by the sink and Kurt drying his hands for way longer than necessary. There's something in the way Dave looks at him; something intense and exciting and encouraging and terrifying all at once, and Kurt's almost sure he can't be seeing more in that look than Dave's feeling on the other end of it.

Before Kurt can muster the courage to ask him, though, the moment's gone; interrupted by an ad for Puck's Play on Dave's mirrorscreen. A young man appears on the display, bare-chested, licking and sucking obscenely on his own index finger. The words _'Blaine Anderson: All New – All Nude'_ flash underneath the boy's face. Dave blushes furiously and signals for the ad to skip.

Kurt can't deny the smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "So," he says, removing his hands from the drier and edging away from the sink, his suspicion all but confirmed by the flush on Dave's face. "You like boys?"

Dave's face falls; he nods in one small movement, cheeks still pink and lips pulled into a tight line, eyes downcast like he's expecting disappointment.

"Good," Kurt says, emboldened by the small affirmation, and heads towards the door, trying to remain cool as he casts a glance back at Dave, "me too."

Dave's eyes rise to meet Kurt's again, though before he can speak, a girl rushes through the door, pushing past Kurt, and into a stall.

"Come on," Kurt says, opening the door into the hallway, keen for the return of their easy conversation. "Breakfast is on me, remember?"


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

They sit opposite each other in the refectory and eat in near silence. It’s busier than when Dave normally visits; fellow pedallers eat and chat around them, paying them no mind.  Kurt looks mainly at his breakfast as he chews, looking up through his lashes at Dave with a coy smile every once in a while, and Dave looks mainly at Kurt, eyes darting away each time he feels like he’s been caught staring.  It’s not what Dave would call a comfortable silence, but it’s anything but unpleasant.

 

“Thanks for this,” Dave mutters, tossing the remainder of his cereal bar into his mouth with a clammy hand.  He still hasn’t quite recovered from their conversation in the restroom. He should’ve felt embarrassed at how he’d just come out to Kurt – fuck knows he had been the last time someone clocked that his personalised porn ads were... _that_ way - but his response to it _(“Good...me too.”)_ , the softness in his voice and the way his eyes shone with what might’ve looked like mischief if only Kurt didn’t look so fucking innocent, meant that any real awkwardness was offset by the thrill of his heart pounding in his chest.  Dave feels like he’s been given some kind of green light - a sign - though he’s still not sure where it’s supposed to lead him.   

 

“You’re welcome,” Kurt smiles at him again, broader this time. “I owed you for giving me such a warm welcome to the floor.”

 

Dave lets out a little huff of air, gives Kurt an almost-shrug, but can’t quite bring himself to say he’d have done the same for anyone.  He’s never been a very good liar.

 

*

 

Kurt can’t stop himself from smiling.  He never expected his time on the floor – especially not the start of it - to be anything like this.

 

He casts his eyes discretely to his left and watches Dave, his new _friend_ , pedalling, flicking through icons on his dash. And, though it’s barely there - not really meant for anyone to see - he’s smiling, too.

 

It’s silly, Kurt thinks, as he continues to watch Dave’s steady movement through his peripheral vision.  He just got here, he only the met Dave _yesterday_ , but he’s been so nice to him, so welcoming, and Kurt _knew_ that there was something more than friendliness in the way he looked him with those soft hazel eyes.  

 

Not that any of it really matters. 

 

He’d asked his Dad, on his birthday, before he came here, about what would be like on the floor.

 

“I can’t lie to you, kid. It’s tough,” Burt said and eyed his son seriously. “And not just physically. You’re at an age now where you want to try things, have new experiences,” He looked pointedly at Kurt, who would’ve been more worried if they hadn’t already had the _sex talk_.  “But, while you’re there, you’re...restricted.”

 

Burt let out a world-weary sigh, ran a hand across his jaw, and continued, “Don’t let them fool you – it’s not just about conserving your energy or letting you focus on your goals or whatever it is they say.  Yeah, they want you to do your part. Generate energy, share your talent with the rest of us, if you have any, but mainly, it’s about control.  Controlling the population, controlling what you buy, what you see, what you weigh, what you eat.  Controlling your expectations....Bottom line, kiddo, it’s about them controlling you and you learning to accept it.”

 

Kurt remembers being surprised by the quiet resentment in his father’s tone.  Cynical yet resigned - it wasn’t Burt’s usual demeanour. 

 

“You know me and your Mom met on the floor, right?” Kurt nodded back at him. He’d heard the story; he’d asked about it a million times.  “I wonder, sometimes, if she...” Burt trailed off, wringing his hands where they lay in front of him on the table.  He looked at Kurt with the same pained expression he wore whenever he spoke about his late wife. “I know she didn’t have any regrets, but...she had talent. Like you.  And, sometimes, I wonder if she held it back, if she wanted to stick around, just because of....”

 

“Dad....” Kurt stopped him before he could finish, resting a hand gently on his forearm.

 

“Just...you’re not there to make friends, y’know?”

 

Kurt nodded back at him again, solemn, but said nothing in response.

 

“Trust me Kurt; you’ll have plenty of time for all that anyway.  You’ve got something special.  Anyone can see that, even those no-mark judges on that show you love so much.” He smiled at Kurt, then, and though it looked a little sad, it was genuine. “You’ll be off that floor and out of there – away from all this – in no time at all. Then you’ll have all the time in the world for friends, and...relationships and everything else you want.”

 

All in all, it wasn’t the most reassuring talk he’d ever had with his Dad, but it was honest and, now that he was an adult, Kurt appreciated that.

 

“Thanks Dad.”

 

Burt had hugged him then, tighter than strictly necessary and for what felt like a long time.  When he let go, he sniffed, and smiled again through bloodshot eyes. “Then maybe you can send out for your old man, huh?  Let me come see the view from your fancy place out there on the edge.”

 

Kurt replied, “You’ll be first on my list, Dad.” And he’d laughed through the tears that threatened to fall, “You know I’ll need someone to head up my entourage.”

 

Kurt sighs and, before he realises he made a sound, Dave’s voice jars him from his thoughts, concerned, brows raised in question.

 

“You ok?”

 

“I’m fine,” he replies, looking back at Dave with a melancholy smile. His Dad’s words still ring in his ears.  Maybe he likes Dave, and maybe Dave likes him back, but, while they’re here, they’ll always be _restricted._  “I was just thinking about my Dad.”

 

Dave just nods and his lips momentarily curl into a frown. “It does get easier,” he says sympathetically.

 

Kurt looks back at Dave, then, _really_ looks at him; broad shoulders, square jaw, strong arms...and those eyes - sincere and warm and full of promise. He wants to tell Dave that, no; he doesn’t think it will get any easier.  Not at all. And, despite himself, he doesn’t even mind. Instead, he pulls himself up straight, widens his smile and changes the subject. “Wanna let me beat you to your next five thousand?”

*

This time, Dave doesn’t let Kurt win the race.  In fact, bolstered by the heat – now he’s pretty sure that it isn’t imagined – in Kurt’s gaze, he allows himself to show off a little; pedalling faster and harder and throwing in a little smack-talk along the way.

 

“You pedal any slower, Hummel, and you’ll be going backwards.”

 

Kurt gasps, mock-offended, “I’m just holding back so I don’t humiliate you again. Imagine, getting beaten by a novice pedaller, twice!”

 

He can feel Kurt’s eyes linger on him as he lets out a little puff of air and he feels his pulse quicken. He returns his eyes to the track on screen, watching his Counter pedalling as he does the same.

 

He stops when he’s added five thousand onto his digits, his Counter hopping off its bike onscreen and standing, foot tapping and arms folded, by the side of the track, artificial blue sky behind him.

 

“Look,” Kurt wheezes and nods towards the screen with a grin, “I’m right behind you.”

 

Dave looks back at his dash and sees Kurt’s racked up 3,995 so far.  He makes a point of zooming out on the aerial view of the track to see the virtual distance between Kurt’s Counter and his own.

 

“Oh yeah, just,” Dave squints exaggeratedly at the screen, “ _six miles_ behind me.”

 

Kurt huffs - lips slightly parted, cheeks pink - and wipes the back of one hand across his sweaty forehead, catching a strand of damp hair as he does, and Dave’s mind starts to wander to places he swore he’d avoid until he was back in the privacy of his pod.

 

He climbs off his bike and leans back against it, facing Kurt.  His hands itch to reach out and smooth away that stray lock of hair that’s now smeared against Kurt’s brow. 

 

“I’m gonna go get a drink, you need anything?”

 

Kurt shoots him a weary smile, “If the vendors have any new legs, then you can go ahead and grab me a pair of those.”

 

“I’ll check,” Dave starts and pushes himself up and away from his bike, inching closer to Kurt for a second, dropping his voice low to continue, “but I kinda like the ones you’ve got.”

 

With that, he turns sharply away from Kurt and steps onto the walkway. He’s flirting, now – no denying it. On the floor. And he feels like an idiot.  A giddy fucking idiot and it’s the best feeling he’s ever had.

 

He goes to the rest room, stands under the cool-jet for a minute and relieves himself before grabbing a couple of energy drinks from the vendors in the refectory.  

 

As he heads back onto the floor, Azimio stands at the entrance, and seeing him in that yellow jumpsuit strips the smile from Dave’s face. Their eyes meet and Dave slows to a stop in front of his former neighbor.

 

“Hey man, you ok?” Dave asks, no idea what else he’s supposed to say.

 

Azimio drops his gaze and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jumpsuit. He shakes his head. “Just couldn’t do it anymore, man.  I was trying to hide it but, shit, it’s my knee. It’s fucked. Arthritis.  I’ve been spending all my credits on meds since my last game, trying to save the rest for another tryout, but I just couldn’t do it.  I’m done.”

 

Dave nods, still unsure of the right thing to say. “I’m...sorry, dude. That sucks.”

 

Azimio shrugs and cracks a smile.  “Ah, it ain’t so bad. I might have to clean your shit up all day long, but when I go back to my pod, I eat what I want, get the meds I need, and I’ve got a guaranteed job when my five years is up. Not everyone can make it, I know that. I’m good with that now.”

 

Dave nods dumbly at him.

 

“Anyway,” Az continues, throwing a glance down the aisle towards Kurt, “I’ll let you get back to it. You got your fifteen yet?”

 

“Today’s the day, I think.” Dave half-smiles in response.

 

“Good, man, good. Get to it.” Az smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he backs away, up the walkway to grab the plastic bottle that’s just been tossed on the floor.

 

*

 

“So, almost there,” Kurt sing-songs and smiles across the table towards Dave, whose innocuous banana eating is giving Kurt _ideas_ he has to work hard to distract himself from.

 

But he just got here, and Dave’s been so.... _nice._  He knows it’s selfish, but he doesn’t want that niceness to end, just yet.

 

“Yeah,” Dave smiles, takes another bite of the fruit and shrugs, “but I don’t wanna leave myself completely broke, you know? I still have to eat. So, we’ll see.”

 

“Right,” Kurt nods, unable to stop his smile from growing, just a little, at the prospect of an extra day with Dave. “Maybe tomorrow, then.”

 

“Yeah, maybe tomorrow.” Dave beams back at him.

 

They finish eating in amiable silence, neither pulling back as their knees touch ever-so-slightly under the table.  The refectory’s getting quieter; a chubby girl in the yellow jumpsuit swipes the debris from their table with a sigh as she passes.

 

“What happened...last time?” Kurt asks Dave, tentatively.

 

“When I tried out?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Dave shrugs and clasps his hands in front of him. “Not much.  I played a game, thought I did ok. Then I got a fail notice.”

 

“Did they tell you what you could do to improve, or...?” Kurt asks, curious.  He’s never been much into sports and hasn’t ever given much thought to how the players might have to fight to get there, just like everyone else who appears on stream.

 

Dave snorts. “No, it’s not like ‘Star Shot’ or ‘Design Star’ or those kinds of talent shows.  The coaches watch your game, then say yes or no. That’s it.”

 

“That seems...” Kurt starts with a frown, but Dave cuts him off.

 

“That’s just how it is. And it’s fine.” Dave’s tone is light, but his smile has faded. “You get a day to group, to practice, then play the game. In Pro-Virtua, you either play well, or you don’t. With ‘Star Shot’, those judges own the streams.  They control everything.  You go on and you get your time in the spotlight. You might sing, and maybe they like you, but if they don’t think you have the best voice, they can offer you the chance to act or model or whatever else. But, if I can’t play well, if I can’t stand out during that game, I’m no good to them. I’m no-one.”

 

Kurt thinks about it for as second, and it makes sense.  Dave’s moment in the spotlight will be shared with twenty-one other guys.  Suddenly, Dave’s dream seems even more out of reach than his own.

“No one makes it the first time, though.”  Dave continues, dismissively. “But I’ve worked hard, so....this time,” he smiles and there’s hope in his eyes, tinged with something Kurt can’t place, “Who knows?”

 

“Who knows?”  Kurt’s smile returns and he lets his knee brush gently – once, twice – against Dave’s.

 

“Anyway,” Dave sits back then, slides lower in his seat, pushing his legs further under the table to slide against Kurt’s.  He bites briefly at his bottom lip and Kurt draws in a suddenly shaky breath. Dave looks off to the side before going on, “I don’t mind it so much on the floor.”

 

“No?” Kurt asks, and his voice comes out higher than usual.  He swallows and tries not to concentrate on the heat of Dave’s thigh against his own, though he can’t bring himself to pull away from the warmth.

 

Dave shakes his head, “Not anymore.”

 

*

 

 

They continue to meet in the refectory each morning; they eat, they talk and they laugh.  They head to the floor and they pedal, they play, they race; stealing glances at each other, some secret and some...not so much.

 

The days passes and end much like each one before, with Kurt’s Counter appearing on the wall of his pod before lights out and blowing him a goodnight kiss, which he returns, then falls asleep with an ache in his balls and a sappy smile on his face. Dave feels himself settling into this new routine already.  And it’s nice.  _So_ fucking nice, that when he tells Kurt he’s just waiting to hit his next million before enrolling for try-outs so that he can be super-prepared – so that he can carbo load for a few days before the game – so that he has something to come back to if it doesn’t work out -  he almost believes the lame excuses himself.

 

In five days, Kurt Hummel has turned his world upside down.  Dave knows he still wants out, _of course_ he does, but now he wonders if maybe he couldn’t wait a little while longer, until Kurt can audition for ‘Star Shot’, too – they could co-ordinate, get out at the same time, meet on the other side...He knows it’s stupid, he fucking _knows_ that it’s cheesy romantic bullshit, but still...he’s never felt like this before and, when Kurt’s around, all he can do is _feel._

 

“Can you believe this?” Kurt chirps beside him, long legs moving the pedals at a steady, fluid pace.

 

“What?” Dave asks and looks across at Kurt’s paused screen.

 

“Noah Puckerman, porn king extraordinaire, is the new judge on ‘Star Shot’.” Kurt rolls his eyes.

 

“So?  They had a porn star as a judge before - Brittany something?”

 

“Brittany S. Pierce.  She was pretty good, actually.” Kurt conceded, looking thoughtful.  “About as sharp as a bowling ball, but entertaining.”

 

“And you watch porn, right?”

 

“Right, but...” Kurt blushes.

 

“Don’t be a prude,” Dave teases, “He seems to have a good eye for...talent.”

 

“We’ll see.” Kurt says with a wry smile before restarting the content and focusing on the screen.

 

Dave dismounts a moment later and, when Kurt looks questioningly at him, he mumbles, “Gotta pee.”

 

“Thanks for sharing,” Kurt mocks, and watches him as he backs away from the bikes.

 

He catches Santana rolling her eyes as he turns to leave the floor, making his way towards the restroom.

“Hey man,” he hears and turns to see Azimio yelling after him, following him down the corridor with a faint limp that he’s never noticed before.

 

“Uh, hey,” Dave stops, hesitantly, and waits for Az to catch up to him.

 

“What’s going on with you?” Az asks.  He speaks quietly but his tone is accusatory.

 

Dave bristles. “What?”

 

“I’ve seen the leader board – you’re up a hundred and fifty thou on your fifteen.”

 

“And?” Dave asks, backing away from Az a little; suddenly keen to put distance between them.

 

“You haven’t enrolled yet.”

 

Dave shrugs, “I’m just clocking up some extra credits. I wanna get prepared, carbo load before the game, y’know?”

 

“Oh yeah?” There’s a challenge in his tone that Dave doesn’t like one bit.

 

“What the fuck is this man?”

 

“Just...seems you like my replacement a lot more than you ever liked me.” 

 

Dave feels his face flush and his muscles stiffen. “What? We’re  just, I mean, I’m...what’s it to you, anyway?”

 

Az speaks quietly. “I see you with your boy in there; looking and smiling and all that shit.”

 

“And, what? You’re jealous?”

 

“Fuck you man, I’m concerned.”

 

Dave takes a step forward, closing the gap between then, and all but growls as he speaks. “Concerned about me being a fag? Is that it? ‘Cause seriously, Az, fuck you, we covered this before...”

 

“Whatever, man. You know I don’t give a shit about that.  Just...don’t get distracted. Don’t start thinking with your dick.” Az looks at him with a fearsome intensity. “Keep your focus. Get the fuck out of here soon as you get the chance.”

 

Dave says nothing to that, still pissed, but lets him continue.

 

“I’m fucked, man. I can’t do anything to get outta this place now, I’m stuck. But you...” He takes a step back and his gaze softens.  “Ain’t nothing worth wasting this chance for, man. _Nothing_. You can do it. And maybe, one day when you’re living on the edge, you can give me a job, get me outta here too, huh?”

 

Dave sighs, and squeezes his eyes shut as Az walks away from him. Fuck it, he knows he’s right.

 

“Maybe,” he yells down the corridor, and he’s not sure which part of that statement he’s replying to, but Az and his yellow jumpsuit are already back on the floor.

 

Dave spends longer in the restroom that he should.  He sits in a stall until the warming tone starts and the door auto unlocks on him, and he doesn’t skip the ad that plays on the mirrorscreen as he slowly washes and dries his hands.

 

 **_*Classical music plays as the Star Shot logo fills the screen – followed by the faces of the show’s most recent stars. A man’s voice booms –_ **

**_“Rachel Berry: #‘I love it here, it’s so beautiful at the edge, getting to see outside. Everyone should see it.’#_ **

****

**_“Finn Hudson:  #‘I never thought I’d amount to much. I was never too smart, and I used to trip over things a lot, but when I play the drums, something just clicks.’#_ **

****

**_“Artie Abrams: #‘If it weren’t for Star Shot, I’d be in yellow by now. I can’t thank Will Schuester enough for all he’d done for me.’#_ **

**_“Before they were starts, they were just like you, putting their backs into giving something back for a brighter tomorrow. Four all-star judges want to know –“_ **

**_The judges’ faces float across the screen – Will Schuester, Sue Sylvester, Jesse St James and Noah Puckerman –_ **

**_“- could now be your time to shine?_ **

**_“Watch daily on the Dream Stream”_ **

**_– the music crescendos then fades. *_ **

 

Dave knows that’ll be Kurt soon enough, and he can’t imagine _anyone_ saying no to that boy, not even those judges.  

 

Dave walks slowly back to the floor, dragging his feet, all the joy and warmth and hope he’d been feeling gone.  Azimio’s words had brought him back to reality.  He knows what he has to do.  It’s nice, having someone here, but in the long term, it’s worthless.  He has to be the one who says no to Kurt now so that, one day, Kurt won’t have to say it to him.

 

He smiles mischievously.   “Care to join me for lunch? I hear the reconstituted sausage is particularly good.”

 

Dave pauses, all too aware of the innuendo.  Azimio’s words ring in his mind, and he can see that yellow jumpsuit in the corner of his eye, as he climbs back onto his bike. “I’m good, I think I’ll just stay here, grab a Wonderbar or something later.”

 

“Oh,” Kurt says, the confusion in his eyes is plain to see, “okay. Guess I’ll see you in a little while.”

 

He doesn’t reply.  Instead, Dave brings up the Pro-Virtua Football App on the Sports Stream and hits ‘ _Enrol for Try-outs’_ as he pretends not to watch Kurt hop gracefully off his bike, adjust his sweaty-clothes and walk off the floor on his own.


	5. Chapter 5

Kurt lies on his bed staring at the default wallpaper covering the vis-walls of his pod – a barren purple-blue twilight skyscape – feeling, for the first time in his six days on the floor, desperately and dreadfully alone.

 

He knows there’ll be no message from Dave tonight before lights out; no virtual kiss from his Counter, no smile or wink, no text.  Just the glum visage of his own Counter blinking back at him, the chrono showing the too-slow minutes ticking by and the pitiful sum of his digits, his hitherto life’s achievement, displayed in six figures: _224,359._

 

As he watches the gentle rolling of the virtual clouds around him, he thinks again about what his Dad had told him, and more about how he wished he would have listened.  But, really, he hadn’t _asked_ to be assigned a bike next to the hottest guy on his floor, or for that guy to be so nice to him. He hadn’t asked for gifts, or to be on the receiving end of such a warm, intoxicating smile or-- 

 

Kurt lets out a heart-weary sigh and allows his eyes to drift shut. 

 

He still has no idea what happened.  One minute, everything was fine.  Apart from the fact that his muscles ached and he badly needed a shower, things were going great for Kurt. He was clocking up credits, building his stamina. He’d made a friend in Dave, who just today had been flirting outrageously with him; aiming that sexy smile his way, raising an arched eyebrow _just so_ , speaking to him in that hushed baritone and then... _nothing_.

 

When Kurt returned from having lunch alone, Dave’s eyes stayed resolutely fixed on his screen.  Kurt tried to catch his eye until it was obvious that Dave was avoiding his gaze, though his body betrayed _some_ emotion; his pace quickened as he pedalled, his eyes grew narrow and his lips formed a thin line of concentration.  They pedalled side by side in strained silence until Kurt slid off his bike, tired and sore and still more confused than upset, and cast his eyes towards Dave one last time. He returned his gaze then, and slowed his pedalling to a stop.  “I enrolled,” he’d said sadly. 

 

Kurt looked back at him, saying nothing for a beat, trying to gauge that look in his eyes. It was something angry and apologetic all at once, and it wrenched at his heart just to see it.  Before he could reply, the guy in the yellow jumpsuit who’d been working the floor all day stopped in front of them and looked brightly at Dave.

 

“Hey, good for you man! ‘Bout time.”

 

Kurt tore his eyes away from Dave then to cast an appraising glance at the over-enthusiastic jumpsuit.  “Yeah,” he said eventually with thin smile, his tone clipped, “Good for you, Dave.” And, with a flick of his sweat-slicked hair, he walked off the floor.

 

When he opens his eyes, the vis-wall has faded into blue-black and the chrono reads 22:38 – twenty-two minutes until lights out.  An ad for Pro-Virtua football starts to play on the main vis-wall, mocking him, and he skips it without hesitation, rolling over onto his front, pressing his cheek against the spongy pillow and willing the minutes to pass.

 

He _knows_ he didn’t come here to make friends, but...he hadn’t asked for any of this. He couldn’t help how he’d felt when Dave looked at him that first day; furtive smile, cheeks pink and a glimmer of _something_ in his eye. No one had ever looked at him the way Dave did - like he was something worth seeing.  And he couldn’t deny the spark of heat he felt whenever Dave’s fingertips brushed against his own, or when their knees knocked under a refectory table.   He hadn’t set out to make a friend like Dave but, he’d thought, when it happened anyway, what could it hurt?

 

He almost smiles to himself at that; _almost_ , because it _does_ hurt. And, after just six days, he knows it shouldn’t hurt this much.  He’s barely gotten used to sleeping in his new bed, or the burn he feels in his thighs from endless hours of pedalling, so how can he be so accustomed to his effortless friendship with Dave; the comfortable flow of conversation, the heated glances and easy innuendo? How can he be so used to having a _friend_ like Dave in such a short space of time after eighteen years alone?   He guesses six days in a new world can feel like its own kind of forever.

 

 

What hurts the most, though, is the idea that Dave thinks Kurt was trying to hold him back.  That _that’s_ why he’s suddenly on the receiving end of Dave’s cold shoulder.  He would never have tried to keep Dave on the floor, _never_.  Fuck Dave, if that’s what he thought, fuck him for thinking so little of him, and fuck anyone else who might’ve suggested that Kurt would be so selfish.

 

Kurt turns onto his back again and tries to will the melancholia away. It’s over now, whatever it was, nearly as quickly as it had begun.  And it’s for the best, he knows that, really.  He just wishes he’d listened to his Dad in the first place: he isn’t here to make friends.  He’s here to play his part and use his talent to get out as quickly as he can.  He’s had an easy start, a _nice_ start, to this new life on the floor, but he’s almost a week in and he’s had his fun; now it’s time to get real.

 

 

*

 

Dave wakes up from a fitful sleep and swipes an angry hand above his bed, shutting up the cockerel crowing on the wall with a pained squawk.  He lies on his back, eyes adjusting to the gradually brightening light of his pod as a virtual sun rises in the sky that fills the walls around him. When he sees he the message icon displayed by his bedside, his heart jumps in his chest.  He really shouldn’t be disappointed that it’s his e-vite to Pro-Virtua try-outs – tomorrow, 8.30am, Zone 12, Hall 17 – instead of a message from Kurt.  This is what he wanted, after all.  This is what he chose.

 

When he reaches the floor, his eyes hone in on Kurt, face scrunched in what looks like half-pain, half-concentration, staring at his screen. His hands rest loosely on his thighs as they move rhythmically up and down with the rotation of the pedals.  Dave tries not to let his eyes linger, or to think about why he’s on the floor so much earlier than usual.

 

Though Kurt doesn’t acknowledge Dave’s arrival, he schools his features and straightens his posture, regaining some of his usual poise as Dave mounts his bike. 

 

“Hey,” Dave nods casually in Kurt’s direction and pushes his buds into his ears.  He doesn’t want it to be...like this.

 

“Hi,” Kurt replies with an icy smile, his eyes remaining fixed on the screen in front of him.   

 

They pedal side by side, unnaturally silent, for the rest of the shift.  In the middle of the day, when Kurt slides off his bike and down the walkways, he doesn’t ask Dave to join him, doesn’t smile or asks if he needs anything; he doesn’t look Dave’s way at all. Dave’s eyes follow him, though, as he strides up the walkway towards the exit, the same gentle bounce in his gait, pulling away only when he realises he’s admiring the curve of Kurt’s ass through the loose sweats as he moves.  As his head snaps back towards his screen, he rubs his thumb and forefinger against his tired eyes and hears a voice coming from behind him.

 

He turns to see Santana, “Trouble in paradise?”  She repeats with a smirk on her pretty face.

 

“Fuck you,” he spits out, “mind your own business.”  Her smirk stays firmly in place and she starts to say something else, but Dave can’t hear her.  He drives the volume up until he can feel his buds vibrate in his ears and stares at the cardio routine he’s running on the fitness stream, unyielding even when Kurt returns. 

 

And, as he pedal like his life depends on it – because, really, it fucking _does_ \- he realises that, despite the slot he’s got booked for try-outs, despite the 315,765 credits displayed on his dash, despite the fact that he’s tried to eliminated _anything_ that might distract him or hold him back or keep him from achieving his goal, in all of his three hundred and sixty one days on the floor, he’s never felt so fucking hopeless. 

 

*

As he reaches his eight hours, Kurt’s quietly pleased with himself for making it through this awful day.  He climbs off his bike and wipes his face with his sweatshirt, gently stretching, arching his spine and rolling his shoulders to work out some of the aches of the day.  Not only had he managed to successfully ignore Dave – like he promised himself he would - he’d made 61,333 credits – a new record, up almost nine thousand on his previous best.  At this rate, he’ll have fifteen million in no time at all.  Until then, he’d work hard, avoid distractions and stay focused on his goal.

 

He strolls slowly off the floor, looking forward to getting back to his pod, showering, watching something fun and settling into his lonesome new routine.   As he paces the corridor he to looks out at the other floors in the other zones, visible through the glass wall.  Hundreds of people, thousands, just like him.  If they could do this every day, then so could he.  Like his Dad told him; there’d be plenty to look forward to – friendships, relationships – after all this.

 

He turns towards the elevator and waits, watching as the ad stream plays. No sense in wasting the credits it would take to skip them.  He’s not really paying attention, so he starts a little when he hears his name being called.  And, though he recognises the voice, he doesn’t turn to look back before stepping into the elevator.

 

*

 

“Kurt, please.”

 

Dave’s chest rises and falls as he rushes forward to stop the door from closing. There’s no one else inside.  Kurt just stares back at him, face impassive as he hits the panel by the door.

The elevator emits a piercing sound, accompanied by a robotic female voice and the words flash red on the screens.

***Doors Obstructed***

 

“Kurt, I’m sorry,” Dave says, shoulder wedged against the sliding door to keep it from closing. Kurt says nothing in response. “My try-out’s tomorrow.  I want...I don’t want to leave it like this.”

 

“Leave what?” Kurt asks angrily, folding his arms across his chest.

 

 “Us.” Dave whispers, looking into Kurt’s pale eyes.

 

Kurt snorts in reply and hits the panel again.

 

***Doors Obstructed***

 

“Us, Dave?  There’s no _us_. You helped me out and I was grateful. That’s it. Now, please, let me go.”

 

Dave shakes his head.  Kurt’s words wound him, but it’s no more than he deserves.

 

“I have an e-vite to my game, if you....if you want to....” Dave trips over his words and closes his eyes momentarily, cursing under his breath. “I’d like it if you’d watch.”

 

Kurt licks his lips and swallows, looking back at Dave with wide, glossy eyes.  He reaches out a hand towards Dave’s shoulder and gives him a firm shove. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.” His voice comes out quiet and small, and though the force behind the shove itself isn’t enough to move Dave from his spot, the strength behind his softly spoken words is.

 

Dave steps reluctantly back and the door slides to a swift close, shutting out what might be his last look at Kurt Hummel.

 

*

 

He crosses his legs as he lies on his bed and goes back to watching a particularly bad auditionee on ‘Star Shot’.

****

**_*”That was offensively bad.  I mean, insultingly terrible. I think my ears might actually be bleeding.  Are they bleeding?”_ **

**_-  Jesse St James turns towards Sue Sylvester, incredulous look on his face. She cackles and looks at the crying hopeful on the stage –_ **

**_“Honey, you just wasted fifteen million credits tonight. My advice -  go back to the floor, pedal your little heart out and, as soon as your time’s up, find yourself a guy and pop out some more little pedallers. You are not destined to be a star.”*_ **

 

The wall of Counters behind the judges chuckle and applaud, but Kurt can’t bring himself to join in. The flashing of the message icon keeps catching his eye.  He sighs and motions to open it. _Just delete it_ , he tells himself, _delete it and move on_.

 

**1 Message from David Karofsky. Open?**

It’s not the e-vite he was expecting.  He looks at it for a minute before he decides to open it. He watches as Dave’s Counter appear on his screen, dressed in its football uniform, its shoulders slumped, lips curved into a frown - **_I’m sorry. I fucked up._** __

Kurt’s eyes linger on the Counter for a long time, he reads and rereads the simple text in the speech bubble, before hitting ‘delete’ and watching the frowning Counter disappear.  Kurt pulls his blanket up to his neck and goes back to watching his show.

 

It’s no more than five minutes before the message icon flashes again.  This time Kurt sits upright and opens it without delay.  He just wants this all to be _over_ ; he wants Dave to get onto a team, to forget all about him.

His Counter appears again, wearing the same cartoonish frown **- _“Can we talk?”_**

Kurt replies this time, with a blank expression and a simple **- _“Why?”_**

His reply comes without delay - **_“Because I have to tell you I’m sorry for being an idiot. And I don’t know if I’ll get another chance after tonight.”_**

**_“There’s nothing to apologise for. Good luck tomorrow._** _”_ \- Kurt replies, sending a smile with his Counter this time in a final parting gesture.  He doesn’t close the message box, though, and Dave’s Counter’s lips turn upwards into a smile.

***Incoming....Live Call from David Karofsky. Accept or Decline?***

Kurt sighs and gets up and out of bed, mutes his show, grabs his buds and pushes them into his ears.  The sharp alert tone stops as he accepts the call.

“Dave,” he says in an admonishing tone. At two-thousand credits a minute, no-one live calls. “What are you doing? This is expensive.”

_“I don’t care.”_

“No?”

 

_“No.”_

There’s a pregnant pause, and Kurt feels a familiar flutter in his chest.  He exhales and says softly, “Just say what you have to say.”

_“I’m so fucking sorry, Kurt -”_

“Don’t Dave, I get it.”

_“No, you don’t.  I just...”_

Kurt holds his breath and waits for Dave to finish.

 

_“I just got a little bit...”_

 

He’s struggling, and it’s painful to listen to.  Kurt attempts to help, if only to get it over and done with, “...freaked out?”

 

Dave lets out a nervous laugh and Kurt feels the tension ease a little. _“Yeah, I guess.”_

 

“That’s ok. We were....It was silly, anyway -”

 

Dave cuts him off, _“No, it’s not. It wasn’t, but I met Az, the guy you replaced, and he said some shit about how I had to get out because he couldn’t, and I just got_....fuck _,”_ he sighs, then, before continuing. _“I don’t normally do this kind of thing.”_

 

Kurt feels his heart pound. “And what is it you’re you doing?”

 

_“Talking to you and...stuff.”_

 

“Stuff,” Kurt repeats, not unkindly.

 

_“Yeah. I’m...kind of quiet, normally, y’know?  I’m not very good at making friends, but you...”_

 

“Well, you didn’t come here to make friends, right?”

 

 _“Right, but what if....”_ he pauses and Kurt can hear him take a shaky breath, _“What if I wanted to be more than friends?”_

 

“Dave,” Kurt starts and closes his eyes, taking an unsteady breath of his own before continuing. “Why are you doing this?”

 

“ _I...”_ he pauses, and sighs as though in defeat. _“I really like you, Kurt.”_

 

Kurt doesn’t know how to respond.  He knows how he _wants_ to, but he can’t find the words.   Dave breaks the silence. _“Are you....still there?”_

 

“I’m here,” Kurt whispers and watches Dave’s Counter blink sadly back at him.  He gives in; this might be the last time he speaks to Dave at all, why shouldn’t he let it end as nicely as it began?  He looks into the Counter’s big, brown eyes. “I really like you too.”

 

_“I know it’s too late, but...”_

 

“Shh,” Kurt stops him from saying anything else, “you need your rest for tomorrow.”

 

_“Yeah, I guess I do.”_

 

“Good luck.”

 

_“Thanks. If I make it, come find me when...”_

 

Kurt cuts him off again, but there’s a smile in his voice.  “ _Goodnight_ , Dave.”

 

_“Goodnight, Kurt.”_

 

Kurt disconnects but leaves Dave’s Counter there on his wall.  Its gloomy expression quickly morphs into a smile.  The e-vite he’d been expected pops up on his screen –

 

**‘David Karofsky has invited you to watch Pro-Virtua Football Try-Out Game 737 at 17:00 tomorrow.’**

\- And Dave’s Counter blows a kiss his way.

 

Kurt laughs, in spite of himself, a shrill cackle that quickly turns into a sob as he returns the tender gesture, knowing too well that a gesture is all it’s ever likely to be.

 

*

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

“You’ve been assigned to your team based on perceived skill level and preferred position.  Your assigned team is final. Any questions so far?”

 

Dave eyes the guys around him, shaking their heads in unison, and he joins in.  The coach carries on regardless.

 

“This morning we complete the training exercises.  We break for lunch and then we huddle, we practice, we practice some more and then we play for real on the V-field at seventeen-hundred. Got it?”

 

There’s a chorus of mumbled assent as the coach turns and motions towards the main wall.  The dash appears and he makes a number of selections, causing the walls to turn sky-blue and grass-green.  A field stretches out before them and a Counter emerges, smiling.  The real coach disappears through a portal in the corner, and the Counter on the display begins to speak.

 

_“Hi. I’m Coach Doppel and I’m here to help you make the best of your Pro-Virtua opportunity.  Follow my lead through these simple exercises and drills, and you could be on your way to the big leagues!”_

 

 _This_ , Dave remembers.   It’s going to be a long day, and part of him, though he hates to admit it even to himself, would rather be spending this day on the floor, beside Kurt; watching the graceful rise and fall of his thighs as he pedals, the slow-rising flush of his skin as he works up a sweat –

 

Dave’s quickly jolted from his thoughts by a fellow player nudging at his elbow and nodding towards the display. He mumbles his thanks and turns his attention reluctantly back to Coach Doppel. 

_“... stretching exercises first.  It’s important to stretch the muscles before....”_

 

He follows the Counter’s movements, stretching one arm and then the other high above his head, feeling a gentle pop as his shoulders uncurl. He knows he has to concentrate, he _wants this_ , damnit. He _does_. Azimio’s words return to him, then, and linger in his mind like a bad song, his unwelcome mantra for the day: _Ain’t nothing worth wasting this chance for...Nothing_.

 

And now he’s here, he at least owes it to his interim team-mates – if not Az -  to give this his best shot. 

*

 

Kurt feels strangely hopeful as he reaches the floor this morning.  He’s glad he’d talked to Dave. _So_ glad. He’d put it all out there last night; no more dancing around the topic of their mutual attraction, fun though that dance had been. He _likes_ Dave, and Dave likes him, but...Well, now just isn’t the time for those kinds of feelings.  But who knows what might happen somewhere down the line, if they both make it to the edge?  Kurt can’t deny that he is, at heart, a hopeless romantic.

 

As he pedals, he distracts himself with a stream of old movies.  In some, trials are faced and overcome, while, in others, love is lost and found anew. One thing they all have in common, though - they _all_ have happy endings - he makes sure of that - and they manage, mostly, to keep his spirits buoyant. That is, until he invariably catches himself gazing at Dave’s empty bike, all too aware of the absence.

 

It’s not just Dave’s presence Kurt misses, though _fuck knows_ he misses just the sight of him already, but he’s mourning something more; something that might have been.  He sighs and, taking a long gulp of vita-water, mentally chides himself for feeling the loss of something he never really had.

 

As the day passes, he pedals at a steady pace without having to give it much thought, his legs growing slowly stronger as his muscles become accustomed to the repetitive motion. As his second movie winds to a close, Kurt finds his eyes wandering; landing to stare aimlessly at Dave’s unused bike for what might be the twentieth time. On this occasion, he’s disrupted from his pining by the sound of a woman’s voice, mocking in both tone and content. 

 

“He’s not dead, is he?” He looks up to see Santana, a small derisive smile playing on her lips as she inspects him, pedals idling.

 

“No,” Kurt replies, returning her smile, derision and all, “though it was nice of you to ask.”

 

“Then cheer up, sissy-face,” She says, looking away from him and back to her screen, smile turning even more sour.  “Chances are he’ll fail and be back here quicker than you can say fifteen million credits.”

 

Kurt bites his tongue, his only reply the dirty look he shoots Santana’s way. He remembs Dave’s previous reassurance that she cops this kind of attitude with everyone, and he’s really not in the mood for a verbal showdown.  Heaving an overstated sigh, he looks back towards his screen to see the end credits of the movie start to roll. 

 

Kurt wants Dave to make it, he really does.  He wants him to seize this opportunity to get what he wants; to get out of the mid-zones and have something real to go home to.  He wants him to be happy.  Pleasant diversion though Dave was, _nothing_ would stop Kurt from seizing his chance to get out there and sing.  Nothing: not even...someone like Dave. He’ll watch, today, he decides, as Dave tries to win his chance out.  He’ll cheer him on as he plays, his Counter will smile wide, and he’ll let Dave know that, whatever else happens, win _or_ lose, he has a friend.  He hopes Dave knows that, whether he ends up back here or out there, he does have _something_ real, somewhere.

 

He hits his dash and scrolls through the menu on his screen, stopping at the inbox.  He opens Dave’s e-vite and checks the time of the game. If he skips a lunch break, he can be back in his pod by 17:00.  He knows next to nothing about the sport, but he has time to do a little research.  Maybe, he thinks, now he’s clocked up some digits, he’ll even treat his Counter to a new outfit better suited to the occasion.

 

 

*

 

Dave’s exhausted already.  The drills feel like forever ago and they’ve huddled as a team, played their practice game - which his team lost 23-20 - and huddled again, in need of a better strategy.  He gulps down the _Energize_ protein shake he’s been given and changes into the fresh grey and black uniform for the main event. The pads lie heavy on his shoulders and he feels disconsolate as he walks onto the V-field where the teams line up. There’s music playing now, and the main vis-wall is littered with advertisements that frame the few neat rows of invited Counters gathered to watch.  As he gets into position, he scans the crowd for the familiar countenance of Kurt’s and, he realises with almost giddy resignation, he feels more nervous about seeing that Counter than he does about the outcome of the game. 

 

If Kurt’s watching, it means...Well, it would mean a lot to Dave.  It‘d mean, for one thing, that he’d forgiven Dave for being an ass.  It might also mean something more...but now wasn’t the time for that particular train of thought.

 

His eyes scan the Counters nervously.  Some of them hold up flashing banners that read _‘Kick Ass, Kevin!’_ and ‘ _Floor 414 <3 Stefan’_.  He beams when he finds him, finally, and feels his cheeks color as he catches sight of the outfit: a red and white _Beiste’s Bears_ male cheerleader uniform.   Kurt’s Counter smiles wide and waves a pom-pom at him.   Dave wishes it was Kurt’s face he could see, maybe one last time until....He shakes his head, still smiling. Whatever happens, all he knows is, Kurt’s is a face he _definitely_ wants to see again.

 

A whistle sounds a warning and Dave takes his position as Guard on the right side of the offensive line and slides his helmet onto his head, trying to recover his earlier focus.  He steals one last look at Kurt’s Counter as the next whistle blows and now, it holds a banner, letters sparkling silvery-blue on the display. Dave squints to reads the text through the visor of his helmet - _‘BRING YOUR A-GAME, KAROFSKY!’_ – and the Counter sways with others.  Knowing Kurt’s watching him feels like a small victory in itself, and, as the starting whistle sounds, that message on the banner is all the encouragement Dave needs.

 

*

 

As soon as the game’s over, Kurt and the other viewers are booted from the stream.  The final score is a 17-17 draw, and Kurt isn’t sure quite what that might mean for Dave’s chances.  His Counter stands alongside the other viewers, now, in the Pro-Virtua lobby.  A list of available pro games scroll across the screen and a Special Offer flashes onto his display  - _‘Pro-Virtua all-sports stream subscription for just 49,999 credits per month!’_ \- which he immediately declines before leaving the stream altogether.  

 

Despite his lack of football knowledge, Kurt _had_ enjoyed watching Dave play.  And he certainly looked like he knew what he was doing.  It was fun to see Dave in action, to see him do something other than pedalling.  He was so _fast_ as he ran across the V-field, sanguine and solid, charging and tackling those other burly guys, making hard physical contact....Honestly, Kurt still didn’t know much about football, but seeing Dave like that, in his element, was really kind of hot.  He found himself admiring Dave’s ass in those tight pants on several occasions throughout the match, appreciating the narrowness of his hips in sharp contrast to the bulk of his padded shoulders and broad chest.  Kurt swallows hard and throws himself back against the headrest of his bed.  He’s a lost cause. His interest in football may begin and ends with David Karofsky but, if it turns out that Dave _was_ successful tonight, he’ll definitely have to reconsider that subscription offer.  If he can’t have Dave himself, at least he can see him, even if it will be grappling with _other_ guys.

 

Kurt’s thoughts dwell on that for a moment; he couldn’t help but feel pangs of jealousy as he watched Dave get so close to some of the other players tonight.  It didn’t seem fair that these strangers got to be so close to Dave when he was relegated to simply fantasizing about it. He know it’s just part of the game, but he wonders if Dave enjoys it in _that_ way. Kurt’s pretty sure _he’d_ enjoy being tackled by a sexy jock; colliding chest to chest, being thrown down onto the field and fighting for control of... the ball.

 

He slides down lower on his bed and thinks about what it might be like to feel Dave _so_ close; close enough to enjoy the press of his sticky-wet skin, the rasp of stubble against his lips, close enough to  feel the rise and fall of his chest, breath harsh from exertion and closer still, close enough to feel just how much he might be enjoying it, too ....” _Fuck_ ,” Kurt pants, his breath growing labored as he feels his erection grow and glances down to see it tenting the soft fabric of his pants.

 

He hasn’t jerked off in days and, even then, it’d been a quick, functional affair, thinking generally sexy thoughts, but nothing so detailed, so visceral, as grappling with football-player-Dave.  He wonders idly if thinking of _him_ has the same effect on Dave and the image it conjures up in his mind – Dave naked, moaning, jerking off while thinking of _him_ – makes Kurt’s cock twitch without contact.

 

As if invited, an ad for _Puck’s Play_ stream appears on his display. He knows what he’ll be thinking of when he comes, but the ‘Watch Now’ icon is just _too_ tempting under the circumstances. He motions to accept it and barely notices the twenty thousand credits drop from his digits.

 

He sits up briefly to select his preferences -‘male’ ,‘jock’, ‘frot’ – and  reclining, pushes his pants down and off, freeing his achingly hard cock.  He slides his left hand up and down his length in slow, teasing, strokes, as he watches a clichéd locker room scene begin. He rotates his right hand in the direction of the screen, fast-forwarding the vid.  Usually, he enjoys watching a scene play out in full, cheesy exposition notwithstanding, but he has his own storyline in mind and he’s already too far gone to take his time – he’s eager to get to the good stuff.

 

He watches the nameless jocks share a sloppy kiss, the larger of the two – bigger than Dave, his skin a little darker, hair a little longer, but close enough - wrapping his hand around his team-mate’s exposed erection, pumping feverishly before sliding his own impressive length into the mix. Kurt raises his palm momentarily to his mouth and licks wetly at it – no time for finesse - then returns it to his now leaking cock, matching the pace of his own firm, slightly slippery, strokes to those of his on-screen Dave substitute’s, and lets out a reflexive moan as his thumb sweeps across the sensitized head on his upstroke.

 

That proves to be all the help he needs to send him on his way to orgasm. He half-watches the vid through lidded eyes, but his own story’s taken over his mind - it’s _Dave’s_ hand he feels driving down on his dick with each firm, caressing stroke, it’s _Dave’s_ cock pressing hot and hard and velvety soft against his own, it’s _Dave’s_ voice grunting delicious obscenities with each thrust of his hips and pull of his fist and, when he comes in a glorious burst of white-hot bliss, it’s _Dave’s_ name that tears from his throat with a high-pitched howl.

 

Kurt remains still on the bed for several minutes, catching his breath, sated, as the vid continues to play gratuitously on the wall in front of him.  He musters enough energy to raise his hand and stops the vid from streaming but, before he can contemplate cleaning himself up, he’s jarred from his post orgasmic haze by the trill of an alert tone.  He sits bolt upright and involuntarily clutches his blanket to his chest.

 

***Incoming...Live Call from David Karofsky. Accept or Decline?***

 

Kurt does a double take at the display and scrambles for his buds, wrapping his blanket around his sticky torso.  He feels like he’s been caught in the act and he feels his face flush.  Before he can even wonder – or worry – about why Dave’s calling, he’s shoved his buds into his ears and hit Accept.

 

 “Dave?” He questions, half- wondering now if maybe he fell asleep after jerking off and is actually dreaming.

 

Dave’s Counter smiles shyly at him, still dressed in its Beiste’s Bears uniform, and Kurt feels suddenly and stupidly self-conscious.  He yanks at the blanket wrapped haphazardly around him, pulling it further upwards.

 

 _“Hey,”_ Dave replies and there’s a smile in his voice, Kurt can hear it, and it’s enough to tug at the corners of Kurt’s own lips. “ _Look, our Counters match.”_

 

“Oh, that?” He giggles nervously. “That was just a bit of fun.”

 

“It looks good. I like it.”

 

There’s a slight pause and Kurt starts to worry.  The fact that Dave’s able to call him at all can’t be a good sign. “Why are you...?” He lets the question hang between them, unsure of what else he should say.

 

_“I hope you don’t mind me calling again...”_

 

“No! No, I was just...” He screws his eyes shut and curses himself under his breath. He’s started, though, so he may as well finish, “...thinking about you.”

 

 _“Oh yeah?”_ The smile’s back in his voice and his Counter’s expression turns quizzical – it raises an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah.” Kurt replies softly and bites on his lip to stop himself from saying anything else. He doesn’t think he’s quite recovered enough to have this conversation.

 

_“Thanks for coming.”_

 

“W-what?”

 

_“For coming...to the game.”_

 

“Oh, I...it was great. You looked, I mean, you were great out there.” Kurt mentally kicks himself. “So....what happened?”

 

 _“Oh,”_ Dave seems almost surprised by the question, and lets out a little puff of air that might be a laugh before he goes on. _“They sent us all away. They want to rewatch the game, apparently. I should find out tomorrow. But,”_ Kurt imagines Dave shrugging sadly, _“it doesn’t look too good for any of us.”_

 

“So, will you be back on the floor?”

 

_“Yep, at least until I get the notice.”_

 

“I’m...sorry.”

 

_“I’m too beat to even care, honestly.”_

 

“Of course you are,” Kurt could hear the fatigued edge in his voice.  “I’ll let you go, get some rest.”

 

_“Thanks, I just wanted to -”_

 

“- Thanks for....”

 

They say in unison and both chuckle before settling into an easy silence. Dave sighs wearily. _“I really better go, I have, like, zero credits left.”_

 

“Sorry.”

 

 _“Don’t be, it was worth it.”_   Kurt doesn’t think he’s talking about the try-out.

 

“G’night.”

 

_“See you tomorrow...in the refectory, usual time?”_

 

Kurt smiles wide and hugs an arm around his chest. “I’d like that.”

 

_“Me too.”_

 

He disconnects and Kurt feels breathless all over again.  He has one extra day with day with Dave to look forward to; one more day to make up for the one they lost, and, whatever else happens, he wants to make it count.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey,” Dave says with a timorous smile, standing up out of seat as Kurt enters the refectory.  He’s been there for almost thirty minutes, just sitting, waiting for Kurt to arrive.  He’d fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow the night before – bone deep exhaustion and the promise of sweet, Kurt-filled dreams hurling him into a deep, peaceful sleep until he’d woken early, before the cockerel crowed, to feel nervous dread gnawing at the pit of his stomach.

 

“Good morning,” Kurt chirps, voice as bright as the smile on his face, and slides into the seat opposite Dave’s. “Have you been waiting long?”

 

“No, just got here,” he lies, glancing at the chrono that shows Kurt’s here early, too.  They smile at each other dumbly for a long minute. There’s an affable tension in the air between them, born of everything that’s gone before, of uneasy admissions and awareness and fear.  It’s nice, in a crazy, borderline-torturous kind of way.

 

Kurt finally breaks the silence.  “Are you hungry?”

 

“Starving.” Dave nods. “Only...”

 

“What?” Kurt’s smile fades a little.

 

“I kind of spent all my credits on those calls, so....”

 

“Oh, I guess I can help out a poor, starving man, just this once. Anyway,” Dave watches the light dance in Kurt’s eyes. His smile returns and he leans forward a little, elbows on the table, lowering his voice, “it was totally worth it, right?”

 

“Definitely.”

 

“Hmm,” Kurt turns his head to examine the row of vendors, their wares illustrated by the icons on display, “what looks good this morning?”

 

There’s something in Kurt’s voice as he asks; a flirtatious overtone that’s suddenly accompanied by the brush of his calf against Dave’s own. It makes Dave’s mouth go dry and his mind go temporarily blank.  He watches, awestruck, as Kurt’s smile falters and his tongue darts out, only just, to wet his bottom lip.  

 

“You mean,” he says, as Kurt turns back towards him and their eyes meet again, “besides the obvious?”

 

Kurt bites for a moment at his bottom lip as his cheeks turn conspicuously pink. “Besides...” he starts, and Dave feels Kurt’s calf muscle flex against his own, “besides that.”  

 

Dave returns the small movement and lets out a shaky breath, gaze unwavering.  “I guess I’ll take whatever I can get, under the circumstances.”

 

“Okay,” Kurt nods, hand inching across the table then pulling swiftly back.  A small smile returns to his lips and he pulls his leg back too and stands, smoothing invisible creases from his grey tank top.

 

Dave sighs at the loss of the pressure, the heat, from Kurt’s body, however slight, against his own. “Okay,” he repeats and follows Kurt towards the vendors. Scratch borderline-torturous, today was going to be _hell_.

 

*

 

They walk in comfortable silence back to floor, after eating.  They each sway a little as they walk, leaning in, accidentally-on-purpose brushing elbows and hips. And it’s nice.  Kurt’s not thinking about the fact that this might be the last time – the _only_ time – he does this with Dave. He’s not thinking about how he’ll be suffering whether or not Dave’s here tomorrow, knowing either way that he can’t just.... _No_. Today he, too, will take whatever he can get.

 

He sees Dave’s smile fade from the corner of his eye as they approach the doorway to their floor, where the guy in the yellow jumpsuit – Azimio, the one Kurt replaced – stands, eying them critically. Kurt feels his lips curve downwards to mirror Dave’s frown. He knows this is the guy who said _something_ to Dave to weird him out about the time he was spending with Kurt.  Just some resentful wannabe, Kurt thinks, jealous of Dave’s talent, his potential, or....Whatever. He doesn’t know much about the guy and, the way he’s looking daggers at him, he doesn’t much care to learn more.

 

They both keep walking as the pass him by. Kurt keeps looking straight ahead, but he can feel Azimio’s eyes on him, somehow accusing. “Shit, man....” he begins to speak, but Dave cuts him off.

 

“I find out today.”

 

“That's cool, man. Cool. Good luck.”

 

“Thanks.” He hears Dave yell back at jumpsuit-guy, but he doesn’t stop to speak, and Kurt smiles at himself as he hears Dave’s footsteps follow his up the walkway.

 

He’s seemingly oblivious though, his full attention focused deliciously on Kurt.

 

“Let’s race,” Dave says, smiling warmly at him. “First to ten thousand, this time? I have to recoup  some serious credits.”

 

“You’re on. But what’s the forfeit?”

 

“Hmm,” Dave says, giving Kurt a knowing look; that glimmer back in his eye that causes something to flutter hard in Kurt’s chest. “Loser pays for our next live call.”

 

“Bring it, Karofsky.” Kurt says and hits his dash, sending the race invite to Dave.  They both chuckle at their still-matching Counters – footballer and cheerleader – on the screen.  They fall back into their easy routine and an hour passes, just like that, until Dave get’s a message, just as his Counter stops short of the finish line.

 

“Shit,” he says and looks seriously at Kurt, pedals coming to a sudden stop. “It’s here.”

 

Kurt knows instantly what he’s talking about: the notice.  He feels his heart jump into his mouth.

 

They’ve only had _an hour_ \- Kurt feels himself pout. Call him selfish, but it’s not enough. He wants the whole day, just one more day before...

 

“I failed.”  Dave says with a sigh.

 

“Dave, I’m...I’m so sorry...” Kurt tries to say but falters. He feels a traitorous relief flood his system.

 

Kurt watches him climb off his bike and turn to lean back against the saddle. He seems strangely calm as he runs a hand through his short hair. “Guess you’re stuck with me for a while yet.”

 

“Damn it.” Kurt teases, attempting a smile, “I thought I was _finally_ gonna get some peace to pedal around here.”

 

Dave doesn’t reply this time, just looks up at Kurt with a sad, resigned smile. 

 

Kurt slides from his seat and straddles the frame of his bike, arms resting on the handlebars. “Are you okay?”

 

“I will be,” Dave nods and Kurt can see the tears prick at his eyes.  “Just... _fuck._ ” He shakes his head then and turns onto the walkway, heading brusquely towards the exit.  Kurt scrambles off his bike to follow him, and sees Azimio doing the same.

 

 “Dave,” Kurt calls out, softly, as he exits the floor.  Dave stills and looks back, gaze flitting between the two men as Azimio closes the gap between them.

 

When he stops in front of Dave, Azimio casts an angry look back at Kurt before speaking, “Fuck man, I _told_ you.”

 

“What?” Dave gets close to him, shoulder back and chest puffed out. There’s a menace in his eyes Kurt’s never seen before. “What did you tell me?”

 

Az doesn’t back down despite the warning in Dave’s voice. “That you gotta keep your head in the game. That this shit,” he throws another stinking glance Kurt’s way, “was only gonna bring you down.”  
  


Kurt can’t stop himself from letting out an incredulous huff. He storms up to him, voice high and unsteady with anger, “What _is_ your problem?”

 

“My problem,” Azimio starts, turning towards Kurt and pointing his finger, “is that this is all your fault. His eyes light up like v-tubes whenever he looks at your twink-ass.”

 

“Don’t talk to him like that.” Dave takes another step towards Azimio and pushes roughly at his yellow-clad shoulder, forcing his attention back towards Dave. Kurt eyes his hand balled into a white-knuckled fist by his side.

 

“Or what? You think I don’t know what it’s like?” Azimio narrows the gap between him and Dave so they’re standing chest to chest, eye to eye. “I been there, bro. And look where it got me.” He huffs out a sour excuse for a laugh. “I ain’t ever gonna know what it’s like out there. My chance is gone. I ain’t ever gonna have anything, _anyone,_ more real than this fucking jumpsuit.”

 

“Get out of my fucking face,” Dave pushes violently at him, his voice shaky and hoarse, and turns to march away, towards the restroom.

 

Kurt watches for a moment, dumbstruck. He feels his chest rise and fall with each ragged breath.

 

“Pretty boy ain’t gonna stick around for your sorry ass,” Az calls after him, then, after a long moment, turns his attention back to Kurt.  His dark eyes are bloodshot and his bottom lip trembles slightly before he speaks, voice softer than it was before. “ _Whatever_ you think this is, let me tell you now, it ain’t worth it. Don’t neither of you wanna end up like me.”

 

And it’s true, Kurt thinks as he hauls in an indignant breath and glowers at him before going after Dave, he doesn’t want to end up anything like him; he never wants to be so bitter, so pathetically and pointlessly spiteful, whatever this life throws at him. 

 

 

*

 

“Fuck!”

 

Dave slams his fist against a shiny stall door. _Fuck Azimio_. Fuck what he thinks he knows about him or Kurt of _any_ of it. 

 

“Dave...”

 

He lifts his eyes to see Kurt stand in the doorway, wide eyed and open armed.  Dave can feel tears well in eyes; Az’s harsh words, the fail notice, the fucking pain burning across his knuckles and just the _sight_ of Kurt, all too much.  “Fuck, Kurt, just... _fuck_.”

 

Kurt edges towards him, arm extended to rest a hand on his forearm.  “It’s okay, it’ll be okay...”

 

“No,” Dave shakes his head violently, and pulls away from the tender touch, leaning back against the cold, black tiles. “It won’t. He’s right.”

 

“No, he’s not.” A laboured smile pulls at the corners of Kurt’s pink lips, though his eyes contradict him; Dave can see the clear blue tears threatening to fall. “His experience is just that, _his_. He doesn’t know anything about you, or me, or...”

 

“I just...” Dave starts and lets out a strangled sob, eyes dropping towards the floor. He barely recognises his own voice; it comes out in a cracked whisper. “I should care that I failed again, I should...but I don’t. Because...I was, I mean, I wanted to....”

 

He trails off, closing his eyes to stop himself from bawling like a little bitch.

 

“It’s okay,” Kurt’s hand rests gently on his bicep,  stroking lightly, his voice soft and smooth and more comforting than it has any right to be.

 

“It was fucking hard, Kurt.  Too hard.  I don’t know how many times....” Dave lifts his bowed head and opens his eyes to look at Kurt, instantly wishing he hadn’t; the expression he wears is achingly earnest, but tender at the same time. His eyes are wide and soft, his lips slightly parted, and his hand continues to pet soothingly at Dave’s arm.  He has to force his gaze to drop before he can continue. “I can’t do anything else.  But I don’t want to be some loser, I don’t want to wind up stuck here forever, like Az, bitter and alone in some pod...I want.... _fuck_.”

 

“I know,” Kurt says in reply, barely a whisper, and shuffles his feet so they’re standing closer, toe-to-toe.

 

Dave feels his fingers itch to return Kurt’s ministrations. “I just want _s_ omething to show for all this, y’know? Something I can touch, something _real_...”

 

“Dave,” Kurt’s hand stills on his arm and Dave can feel the burn of his fingertips on his skin as his grip tightens. “David, look at me. I know it’s not the same, but you _do_ have something real.  Right here. You have...a _friend._ ” Their eyes meet, and there’s something tough in those dolorous eyes, something he’s seen before; something bold, uncompromising.  Dave feels his pulse quicken. “You have more than a friend, you have _me_.”

 

Dave looks at him then, blinking away the tears that are threatening to spill, and he’s right. Before he knows what he’s doing, Dave’s pushing himself forward, raising his hands to cup that sweet face and pressing his lips hard against Kurt’s. 

 

Before it fully registers, the moment’s gone. The mirrorscreens around them flash red and emit short, shrill warning tones; the familiar robotic voice reads the warning that’s now on display –

 

*‘ ** _Inappropriate activity. Penalty activated. Discontinue.’*_**

**_  
_ **

Dave backs quickly away, yanking Kurt’s fist off his shirtfront and pulling his hands away from his face as though he’s been scolded by the heat between them. Kurt’s eyes are large with surprise; his mouth hangs slightly agape, hand coiled in a fist in front of his chest.  Dave feels his heart pound in time with the inexorable warning tone and he’s suddenly all too aware of his actions. He feels like he can’t breathe.  

 

An unintentional sound escapes Dave’s throat as he turns to leave; a frustrated, choked whimper as he pushes viciously at the door, wondering what fresh hell awaits him now, as the warning sound echoes out into the hallway behind him.

*‘ ** _Inappropriate activity. Penalty activated....’*_**

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

He never expected to have his first kiss here. 

 

Not even after acknowledging his...attraction to Dave.  Oh, he’d given it some serious thought. Kurt knew after a couple of days - okay, maybe the first day - that he’d _like_ to kiss him; he’d _like_ to do more than just kiss him, truth be told...but, no.  It wasn’t allowed.   He could _think_ about it all he wanted, fantasize about the feel of those lips on his, the warm, wet brush of tangling tongues, the scrape of teeth, Dave’s hungry mouth against his own; his hands and more, _on_ him, _in_ him...he’d watched enough porn to know how it was supposed to go.  And they could _talk_ about, if they were bold enough;  they could cast long, lingering glances at each other and let their fingertips brush and their feet tangle under refectory tables, they could walk close and stand closer, but _more_ than that was...well, it was more than Kurt ever dared hope.

 

Now, though, that he’s _felt_ Dave’s lips on his – hard but yielding, stubble-rough, scorching hot  and just the slightest bit damp from saliva – he can’t think of anything but that feeling; not Azimio’s cold words, not the speculative eyes on him as he all but ran back to his bike, not Dave’s absence now or his frustration at his failure before, not what the negative digits, danger-red, on his screen actually _mean_ , not the message alert flashing on his dash. No matter how hard he pedals, no matter how loud the default ad stream plays on a maddening loop in his ears, all he can think about is the press of Dave’s lips against his and that _taste_ ; the coil of desire it sent through his body and the fear he feels now that he might not – no, that he _won’t_ – get to feel it again until...until he makes it off the floor, one way or the other.

 

And as he pedals up an imaginary hill, ignoring the burn his thighs, ignoring the ad for _Trivia Trap_ and the dull ache in his chest, _now_ he knows why _this_ is prohibited during the pedalling years.  He’d heard everything his Dad had told him, about control and acceptance, and he knew what _they_ wanted him to believe, but _now_ he really gets it; now more than ever.

 

*

 

 

Dave lies still on his bed, where he collapsed in a foetal heap on arrival back in his pod, afraid to go back to the floor and face Kurt; afraid to open his inbox and read the message inside.

 

He can’t think straight, not when his lips still tingle and his fingertips itch from the feel of Kurt’s soft skin beneath them. There’s nothing _straight_ about his train of thought whenever Kurt’s involved anyway, but this time...shit, he’s gone too far.  Kurt reached out to comfort him and something snapped in his mind, as fucking _feelings_ – humiliation from his failure; anger at Azimio getting on his case again; gratitude, affection, _lust_ at Kurt’s soft words and soothing touch – flooded his system and he lost control. Now they both have a price to pay for his fucking _feelings_.

 

As the silence fills the small space around him, interspersed only with the ad streams for _Wonderbar, Puck’s Play, Trivia Trap_ and _Star Shot_ that play on a staggered loop, he wonders how he ended up like this.  He’d been alone for almost a year before Kurt got here; a year of comfortable routine, self-control, planning and counting and waiting for his chance, but now...

 

Well, now, he’s not alone.

 

He sighs and rubs the heels of his hands against his tired eyes, attempting to stop the thoughts turning like cogs in his mind. He knows he’s just delaying the inevitable.  When he decides he can’t stall any longer, Dave drags himself into an upright position and blinks at the chrono; he’s spent over an hour lying here, wallowing in self-pity, or something like it.  He realises with twin pangs of surprise and regret that he hadn’t jerked-off.  He thought he would, with the taste of Kurt’s mouth still on his, just to feel some kind of _release_.  It was one of a million thoughts he’d had on his way back to his pod, erection throbbing painfully in his pants, heart pounding too-hard in his chest, but too many other _feelings_ – guilt, regret, frustration – diluted his lust by the time he fell onto his bed.  He shakes his head from side-to-side in another attempt to clear his addled mind; he really is a lost cause.  

 

The message icon blinks at him even as he attempts to avoid looking at it.  He has an idea of what it will say – he knows how things work, although he’s never committed a breach before.  He motions towards the envelope icon and signals for it to expand:

**_BREACH NOTICE_ **

**_From: The Guard._ **

**_To: David Karofsky (participant), Kurt Hummel (participant)._ **

**_Breach of Rule 2.12* – Inappropriate Activity: Sexual Touching._ **

**_Penalty: Level 1 - 250,000 credits (active)_ **

****

**< Start Stream Notification>**

****

**_(*2.12 -No mutual sexual activity is permitted, including but not limited to: kissing, prolonged hugging, licking, sucking, body-to-body rubbing, massage, mutual masturbation, nudity for the purpose of sexual exhibitionism or voyeurism, penetration (vaginal, anal or oral).  The use of pornography as entertainment is permissible, as is the discussion of sexual topics between individuals. Masturbation is encouraged but permitted only in the privacy of an individual’s pod.)_ **

****

Dave reads through the notice – it pains him to see Kurt’s name there alongside his, _indicted_ \- and waves for the Stream Notification to start. A Counter appears on screen, female, dressed in full Guard uniform, and starts to speak, phony -friendly and patronisingly slow:

 

 

**_*”Hi.   I’m Guard Officer Duplice and I’m here to tell you more about the notice you’ve received. You and another party were observed to participate in a breach of Rule 2.12 – see your notice for further clarification of the rule – at 10:14 today on Floor 23, Zone 216. In order to maximise your time here on the floor, it’s important that you abide by the rules.  While we understand that, from time to time, temptation exists to break these rules, we assure you that these guidelines have been put in place to help you reach your full potential during your pedalling years.  Abiding by these rules will allow you to stay focused on achieving your goal and keep you both physically and psychologically healthy.  Remember, you can watch_ Puck’s Play _stream at any time, secure in the knowledge that you’re having fun but hurting no-one._**

****

**_For this Level 1 breach, you have incurred the standard penalty of 250,000 credits.   These credits have already been deducted from your current total.  In the instance that the penalty leaves you with a negative balance and no usable credits, you will be required to pedal in your usual pattern until your debt is repaid in full.  During this time you will be able to purchase basic food and water from the vendors, but you will have no useable credits to spend on luxury items._ **

**_Should further breaches be observed, the appropriate penalties will apply. Remember, repeat offenders and multiple breaches incur higher penalties. The Guard reserves the right to, at any time, redeploy participants to an alternative bike, floor, or zone, as appropriate. Should you wish to appeal this decision, hit the ‘Appeal’ icon at the end of this message and a Guard officer will visit you in due course._ **

****

**_We hope you’ve learned your lesson. Goodbye.”*_ **

****

Dave straightens his slouched shoulders and lets out a sad snort of laughter, eyes darting between his digits - glowing red, _-240,921_ , taunting him - and the flashing _‘Accept’_ and _‘Appeal’_ icons on his screen.

 

 

He hits ‘Accept’ and throws himself back down onto the bed with a thump.  He wonders if Kurt had the same message; wonders if he’ll accept it or appeal.  After all, it wasn’t his fault; he didn’t instigate the kiss. Dave’s not sure, when he replays it in his mind for the thousandth time, that he’d even _retuned_ it.  Not that he’d had much of a chance. Fuck it, Kurt _should_ appeal. Dave deserves a harsher penalty for his stupidity and maybe if either of them were moved – _redeployed_ – it wouldn’t be such a bad thing....

 

An ad for ‘Star Shot’ plays and saves him from disappearing into another black hole of introspection. He eyes his digits again from his prone position, red and unmoving: -240,921. He has a long way to go to repay the penalty; it’ll take at least three full days, maybe four.  He can’t afford to waste any more time.

 

He stands and palms the dash to unlock the portal and head back to the floor; back to Kurt, he hopes, and back to his life, his routine, whatever the hell it’s become.

 

*

 

It takes a moment for the movement to register in his peripheral vision; Kurt’s so focused of the movement of the pedals under his feet, the slow-moving red digits on the dash in front of him and the still-flashing message icon on the top right corner of his screen; on anything that’ll keep the memory of the sight and smell and sound and _sensation_ of Dave out of his mind that he almost doesn’t see the real thing climb onto his bike right beside him, eyes downcast and posture slumped.

 

Their eyes meet warily and neither says a word for a solid minute.  Kurt attempts a small smile and asks, “Are you okay?”

 

Dave nods back at him, anxious. “I’m so sorry...” he whispers, trailing off and shaking his head, looking away.

 

 ** _“_** Hey,” Kurt replies, prompting Dave to look back at him, “you have nothing to apologize for.”

 

Dave emits something resembling a grunt and rolls his eyes.

 

“Dave,” Kurt says seriously, raising his voice a little, “Nothing. Okay?”

 

“You sure?”  Dave asks uncertainly, hands fidgeting on the bike’s handlebars. His head is bowed penitently but he looks up at Kurt through dark lashes. Kurt watches as, for a split second, Dave’s pink tongue flicks out between his lips and, _fuck_ , it makes him feel almost dizzy; the memory of the sensation he’s been trying his best to suppress comes back to him in a heated wave.

 

He becomes abruptly aware of the silence hanging between them, of Dave’s dark eyes leaving his. Kurt sputters and tries to talk his way out of his reverie, attempting to keep his tone light. “Well, I haven’t _actually_ opened the message yet but it can’t be all that bad...can it?”

 

“If you want to appeal, it’s cool. I mean, you should open it and see...because the penalty, I mean, it’s....”

 

“Whatever the penalty is,” Kurt interrupts Dave’s fluster and leans to the side, towards him, dropping his voice low, suddenly aware of the prying eyes watching them from around the floor, “as long as we’re both still here, it was worth it.”

 

Dave sighs in audible relief and says softly, “Thanks, Kurt. For...everything, I guess.”

 

“Thank _you_ ,” he says, pausing briefly before going on, voice barely a murmur, “for my first kiss”. Kurt pulls himself back to sit upright on his saddle and allows his lips to settle in a coy smile.

 

 To his delight, Dave returns the smile and the sentiment.

 

“Mine too.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

_**-222,600** _

"Hey, scandal queens."

Just as he feels the lead-weight tension begin to lift from his shoulders and they've settled into something approaching a comfortable silence, she appears; filling the gap between Kurt's bike and his own and  _of course_  Santana's the first one to say anything. Dave feels his brow furrow and throws a fierce glare her way.

Santana smiles sweetly and rests her hands on her hips. Her ponytail swishes as she looks from Dave to Kurt back to Dave. "So, dish," she winks. "The suspense is killing me."

He knows that everyone on the floor knows  _something_  happened – he's not oblivious to the eyes on them both; the low buzz of whispered words and stifled giggles – their scarlet digits telling tales of their own, displayed obscenely on the leader board.

Dave scowls at her and pounds harder on his pedals. "I failed my try-out," he grits out between labored breaths.

"Oh, but that's old news, Davey," she retorts, saccharine smile still in place. "Tell Aunty Tana what went down out there this morning," she nods her head towards the exit, "or, rather,  _who_..."

He sees Kurt's head turn at that; eyes wide and brows raised almost to his hairline. Dave snaps at her, "What the...why do you even care?"

"Because the talk I heard back in the refectory ranges all the way from you two making out to full on rim-jobs on the restroom floor. Care to set the record straight?"

Dave feels his face flush red with fury. "Fu-"

"Dave was just a little upset, about...his tryout," Kurt cuts in, "and I, in trying to console him, got a little too close."

She turns towards Kurt and raises a sceptical eyebrow at him.

"That's all," he shrugs his shoulders and returns her sugary-sweet smile.

"That's all? And that put you in the red?"

Dave blusters, "It's none of your fucking business."

Kurt's eyes shoot to meet Dave's; telling him off with a  _look_ before calmly defending his position. "I guess it just looked a little suspicious."

"Hmm." She eyes them both cautiously before turning away, back onto the walkway towards her own bike.

Dave feels relief untie the knot of anxiety in his chest. He's ok with what happened, now he knows that Kurt is, but all this shit? Yeah, he really doesn't want to have to deal with it right now. What he wants right now is to pedal his way out of the red. He still want to make it off the floor; he wants to get back into some kind of routine, to formulate some kind of new plan, and he really,  _really_ , wants to find new ways to make Kurt smile without breaking anymore rules while he's doing it. But, not necessarily in that order.

Kurt turns swiftly towards him, his smile still there but a little broader now, more genuine than it was before. He mouths a smug "You're welcome" and lets his eyes linger for a second before turning his attention back to Santana as she remounts her bike. She turns her head to the side, looking back towards both of them as she starts to pedal and her smile drops. Her voice is low, but still loud enough for Dave to hear, two bikes away, "Just so you know, maybe it wouldn't look quite so  _suspicious_  if you weren't still eye-fucking right here on the floor."

Dave watches Kurt watch Santana, eyes wide with incredulity. He  _knows_  she's right, and he knows that, under the circumstances, they really should be making a concerted effort to...cool things. But,  _fuck_  if he cares right now as he watches Kurt in profile; lips parting in silent protest as a rosy-pink blush spreads deliciously across a high cheekbone.

Instead of worry in the pit of stomach - instead of the dread he knows he should feel at the prospect of having Kurt so close but wanting him closer, of being caught out and punished and denied and having to endure  _this_  for the foreseeable future - Dave feels that same glorious heat he's felt before, that twist of desire and flutter of  _something_  that makes him feel fucking giddy and he has to bite at the inside of cheek to keep himself from grinning.

* * *

_**000,001** _

"Well, that was easy."

It had taken him a little less than two hours to make it out of the red. Kurt's Counter reappeared on his dash, smiling, and he felt relieved to see the little guy. If he kept up this pace, by the end of the day he should be back to just about where he started on day one. Strangely, that thought was less depressing to him than he thought it probably should be.

"Speak for yourself," Dave piped up, wiping his sweaty brow and eying his digits with a playful smile. Kurt knew without looking at the leader board he still had a  _long_  way to go before he was back into credit, which meant Kurt couldn't message him, couldn't race him or gift him anything or live call him...not that he'd have enough credits to do that for a little while yet anyway. And, really, he should be focusing on rebuilding his credits, on his  _ultimate_  goal of getting off the floor instead of his  _immediate_  goal of, well, doing anything with Dave that he could get away with.

Kurt mentally chastises himself. These kinds of thoughts are exactly what got them to here in the first place and, as much as he doesn't regret any of it, he read the penalty notice; he knows what he can and can't do, and what the Guard have the power to do. He can put up with the looks from their neighbors; Santana's gossip from and Azimio's disapproval, but he doesn't want to ruin either of their chances at getting out and, most of all, he doesn't want to lose Dave from his side unless it's to a better life out there on the edge.

He smiles at Dave, struggling to keep the sadness out of it, and distracts himself for the rest of the shift by working out how many credits he needs to earn before he can justify buying a new outfit for his Counter; how many days worth of  _Star Shot_  he'll have to catch up on when he can afford to stream it again and just how many days it'll take him - if he sets aside an allowance for a few simple daily pleasures - to reach fifteen million credits.

* * *

_**-178,397** _

"I'm done, finished,  _dead._ " Kurt declares and hops off his bike. Dave, still pedalling, studies him discreetly as he bows his head and lifts the hem of his shirt up to rub briefly at the sweat on his neck. It's an unconscious motion, and lasts barely a second, but Dave feels his breath hitch at the flash of exposed skin; Kurt's fucking  _belly button_  on show, the light trail of hair just visible underneath...

Kurt looks up at him, chest still heaving, red lips in a loose smile.

Dave swallows thickly and stammers, "We, uh, we should probably, y'know..."

"Cool it a little?" Kurt asks, matter-of-factly.

"Um," Dave can't hide that he's a little taken aback by that. "I was gonna say talk, but..."

"Oh, I mean, I don't want to, but-" Kurt starts, shaking his head a little in defence.

"You don't wanna talk?"

"No, silly." He lowers his voice and leans in,  _almost_  resting a hand on Dave's moving thigh, "I don't want to...cool it. But, I guess..."

"Yeah, you're right." Dave swallows again and nods sorrowfully.

"What else can we do, though, right?" Kurt's voice is higher than usual and his shoulders dip as he looks down at his feet.

"Right."

"But..." Kurt trails off, still not looking up.

"What?" Dave prompts. From his vantage point, a foot or so above Kurt, he can see the sweep of his lashes casting long shadows against his pink cheeks. It's not helping  _at all_.

"Nothing." Kurt pauses, bites his bottom lip and then, finally looks up to meet Dave's eyes with his own. His lips quirk a little, "It's just...that I...I still..."

Dave knows exactly what he's trying to say; it's clear from the color spread high on his cheeks and the tremor in his voice. He smiles and draws in a slow breath. "Yeah, me too."

* * *

_**160,052** _

Days pass; two, three. They still talk as they pedal, but not as much, and they still sit together in the refectory, but never  _too_  close, and only at lunch. They meet and part on the floor each day, arriving and leaving at around – but not at  _exactly_  – the same time. Though their neighbors seem to have quickly forgotten the scandal; their self-imposed distance is more for their own benefit than anyone else's.

They've talked about... _things_  and, yes, they like each other and, no, there's not an awful lot they can do about it here and now. Instead, they agree to stay focussed on making up the credits they lost; on getting Dave back into positive digits and then...well, then, they could at least send messages again; they could live-call. There were no rules against  _that_.

Kurt's way ahead now, almost back to where he'd been when he'd incurred the penalty, and he's been modest with his newly earned credits; sticking to protein bars and water, just like Dave, as he waited for  _this_  day.

Today, Dave's officially out of the red. Now, he can't wait for Dave to catch up with him, for them to get back to – more or less - where they'd left off.

Kurt has found himself, these last few days, watching Dave from the corner of his eye, admiring the view in the subtlest way he possibly can. He loves the obscene bulk of Dave's thigh as it moves rhythmically on the pedals, how the muscle flattens,  _broadens_ , with every turn. He likes the way his mouth hangs open slightly in concentration and how he tongues unknowingly at the crease of his lips. He spends long moments watching the way his strong fingers curl around the handlebars of the bike – fists gripping tight, turning slightly in small, repetitive movements. He appreciates all these little things, peripheral gifts, in lieu of outright ogling. And, when he's alone in his pod at night, his own fists make not-so-small repetitive movements of their own as he thinks of that mouth, those hands, his own nimble fingers on strong, broad thighs and...Kurt catches himself and bookmarks that particular train of thought for use later. He  _is_  a healthy young man and even the rules say that masturbation is 'encouraged'. Those little extra details he's collecting, committing to memory, just help make the experience that little bit more satisfying.

Kurt eyes the chrono on his dash. They have almost two hours to go before they'll each go back to their pods and, for the first time in four days, Kurt can't wait to get off the floor. Tonight, he can  _talk_  to Dave again without the fear of prying eyes or inquisitive ears. He's missed their little messages; the virtual 'goodnight' kisses and the big brown eyes of Dave's Counter gazing down at him from the vis-wall as he sprawls smiling in his bed.

He casts his eyes to the side, towards Dave, who's pedalling fiercely and looking to the front, oblivious, pink tongue poking at the corner of his mouth. Kurt smiles to himself and tries to concentrate on the melody of the song he's listening to, eyes back on his cycling Counter; on the long, virtual road stretched out ahead of him.

* * *

_**51,603** _

" _Well, hello."_

"Who is this?" Dave asks, broad smile betraying his mock-cautious tone. Kurt's voice is  _right there_  in his ears and his Counter appears on the display in front of him, smiling sweetly. He expected a message, now that he's able to receive them again, but in light of, well,  _everything_ , he didn't think he'd call.

" _Ha, and indeed, ha. It's nice to have you back from excommunication."_

Dave settles back against headrest of his bed and rests a hand on his bare chest, still slightly damp from his shower. "It's nice to be back."

" _I've...missed you."_

"You know that was me on that bike beside you all day, right?" Dave can't help but tease, it feels good just to talk like this. He's missed it too. "Y'know, big guy, dark hair, no credi-"

" _Shut up. This is different_." There's a smirk in his voice, if not quite a giggle.

"I know," there's a small silence before Dave finds his lips curling back into a smile. "This is expensive. You know that, right?"

" _Yep."_

"Haven't you wasted enough credits on doing dumb things involving me?" Dave's only half-joking as he asks. He still feels more than a little guilty for being the cause of all this.

" _Probably, but I thought I might as well waste a few credits to even us up,"_ Kurt scoffs in reply.  _"I feel kinda bad being_ so _far ahead of you, despite my junior pedaller status."_

Dave lets out a little breath of laughter. He watches Kurt's Counter sway a little, still dressed in that cheerleader uniform. "You could always  _waste_  them on, for example, some pajamas for your Counter."

" _My Counter undeniably would like to go shopping. Definitely not for pajamas, though."_

"No?"

" _No."_ He answers evasively _._

Dave eyes his own pajama-clad Counter, a tad self-conscious. "What's wrong with pajamas?"

" _Oh, nothing, it's just..."_ he trails off, but Dave can hear the mischief in his voice.

"Just...?" He prompts, drawing out the word.

" _My Counter likes to sleep in the nude, is all."_  In perfect alignment with his words, Kurt's Counter blushes red and his - no,  _it's –_  eyelashes flutter.

Dave feels his pulse pick up pace. "Oh..."

" _You did ask."_  He adds, wryly.

"I did."

" _So, celebratory breakfast tomorrow?_  " Kurt changes the subject. " _I promise not to...y'know,_ look _at you."_

"I can't promise the same." Dave's laughs; the image of naked Kurt (naked Kurt's  _Counter,_  his brain helpfully amends) still very much with him. "But yeah, that'd be cool. I can afford to buy actual protein, and not just that synthetic crap."

" _I did offer to..."_

"I know, but I cost you enough already."

" _True,"_  he says, teasing.  _"And with that, I guess I better go. I should leave myself some credits for the essentials. Y'know,_ pajamas _for my Counter, food, that kind of thing."_

Kurt's Counter's sticks out a pink tongue at him.

"Gotta have the essentials," Dave smiles and, after a beat, lets out a petulant sigh. "Goodnight Kurt."

The Counter puckers it's lips and blows him a kiss for the first time since...well, since he'd felt the real thing. It's enough to make Dave's heart do a little flutter-thump in his chest.

"I," he swallows thickly and tries again. "I wish..."

" _What?"_  Kurt asks softly.

"I wish I could, y'know..."

" _Tell me, David."_

Dave's head lolls back and he closes his eyes. Just the sound of Kurt whispering in his ear, low and commanding, has won the rapid interest of his cock. " _Fuck_ , Kurt..."

Kurt doesn't respond to that in words but with a little intake of breath instead; a soft almost-squeak.

"I wish I could kiss you again." Dave finally manages to say, all in one breath.

Kurt's sighs into the words,  _"Me too."_

"Yeah? You'd..."

" _Hmm-hmm,"_  he all but purrs in Dave's ear.  _"This time, I'd kiss you back."_

The silence stretches out between them. Dave  _knows_  he should stop this before it begins, but there's a lump in his throat and a bulge in his pants that stops him from forming  _any_  kind of reply. He presses his palm to his dick through the thin-but-still-too-thick fabric of his shorts.

" _I mean, I...want to,"_  Kurt continues, voice still quiet, but higher now, and tentative. There's a tremor there, Dave can hear it, but he goes on anyway,  _"Kiss you again, I mean. You tasted...you tasted really good."_

"Fuck, Kurt, I..." It's all he can muster in response. His voice comes out in a low rasp, desperate even to his own ears.

" _I...I should go. I need to,"_  he hears as Kurt takes a shaky breath. From the sound of it, he's in much the same predicament as Dave. His breath hitches again.  _"I need to go..."_

"M-me too," Dave rasps, hand inside his shorts, now, taking slow uncertain strokes.

Neither of them disconnects. Instead, Dave listens, rapt, to the tempting sound of Kurt's breath in his ears. It comes in short, sharp bursts; quickening, growing louder. Dave slides his shorts down his thighs to free his throbbing erection and cups his balls with one hand, squeezing gently, while the other strokes his aching cock. He matches the pace to the staccato rhythm of Kurt's breathing, speeding up as he  _hears_  Kurt grow closer.

His eyes stay fixed on Kurt's Counter; so much like the real thing, though its face is impassive and it's  _way_  overdressed. The 'sleeping in the nude' part of their earlier conversation comes swiftly back to Dave and he lets out a throaty grunt at the mental image of Kurt,  _naked_ , doing just the same as he's doing now.

Kurt's breathing turns to quiet keening; little panting sounds combined with  _ah-ah-ahs_  and Dave's gone; he bites hard on his bottom lip, stifling the yelp that tries to escape as he comes in a mess of hot, glossy-white stripes that land on his bare belly.

He hears Kurt release a surprisingly guttural moan barely a moment later – and  _fuck,_  if he hadn't already come that would've done it - though he's amazed he can hear anything at all over the heavy hammering of his heart in his chest. He realises that he's holding his breath, trying to suppress his heavy breathing, and as he stops - the time for modesty between them well and truly gone – he lets out a spontaneous gurgle of laughter.

He listens to Kurt's breath even out.  _"Goodnight, Dave."_

"G-g'night." Dave manages to say in response, and he hears Kurt let out a contended sigh and, before Dave can say anything else, he disconnects.

He lies there, boneless, staring at Kurt's Counter as it idles, wearing a lazy smile. He tears his gaze away, eventually, to check his digits.

He closes his eyes and attempts to calculate just how many more credits he needs to earn each day; how much harder he'll have to pedal and for how long. He knows he can make savings (does he really need  _vita-water_  instead of regular?), he knows that an extra ten thousand every day would give him five minutes of  _this_ every night, but there's still a lack of blood flowing to his brain and he gives it up to go back to ogling virtual-Kurt instead. All he knows for sure right now, all he can think of, is that he  _has to_  find a way to earn enough extra credits to allow him –  _them_ – to stick to their plans but to do this again. Soon. And on a regularly basis.


	10. Chapter 10

Kurt hates the squawking noise he wakes up to each day. It's been the same every morning since he got here; he opens his eyes, swipes irritably at the cawing cockerel on the display and curses whatever sadist programmed  _this_ as the alarm on the default theme. Every morning, as he lies in bed, eyes adjusting to the gradually brightening light of the faux-sunshine rising in the uninspiring blue skyscape that surrounds him, he vows that, as soon as he has enough credits, he'll buy a new theme for his pod; something with style and ambiance, something that stimulates his senses, that has more adaptable features and Counter comforts. Really, he'd settle for anything without a fucking  _cockerel_.

Today, though, is different. Today, when he wakes there's a smile on his face and a contended thrum in his chest. He swings his hand lazily to stop the crowing of the alarm and turns to lie on his back, stretching sleepy stiffness from his legs, and pushes his blanket down to his hips, cooling his bare chest. He enjoys watching the virtual sun rise over cotton-candy clouds and, for the first time since he took up residence in this poky little pod, he thinks he can put up with the default theme for a little while longer; themes are expensive and, well, right now he can think of better things to spend his credits on.

As he showers, his mind wanders to the night before and he can't help but feel a little  _naughty_. He hadn't intended for the call to end like that; really, he hadn't. He just wanted to hear Dave's voice, to flirt a little without the threat of enquiring ears and judging eyes, but then...

He feels a familiar jolt in his groin and he shuts off the flow of the water.

Something shifted last night and, though he knows it's only going to complicate things in the long run, he can't bring himself to regret it. Just a few words from Dave; nothing raunchy or crude, nothing overtly sexual at all, just the  _need_  in his voice, the hot scratch of his breath, was all it took to stir  _something_  inside of Kurt - something that loosened his tongue and his inhibitions, something he barely imagined sharing with anyone else, at least not here, not like this. They've crossed  _another_  line, but this time, no-one can stop them. This time, it feels like it was their line to cross.

As he dries off, Kurt sings quietly to himself instead of streaming music or a show. Every little helps on the quest to rebuild his credits. He brushes his teeth, applies facial moisturizer and uses anti-perspirant, monitoring his digits closely as he goes along, noting with approval that his essential morning regimen only costs two-hundred and forty-five credits. He holds his head under the cool-jet, attempting to sweep his hair up and away from his face to mimic the style his Counter wears. It's silly, he thinks as he smoothes a few stray strands back, and he knows that ten minutes of pedalling will ruin the look, but still. He's getting nervous about seeing Dave; he doesn't  _think_  he'll regret anything either, but...looking good can't hurt right? Just for today, just in case; it's worth an extra hundred.

* * *

Dave reaches the refectory before Kurt. It's quiet when he arrives; it's early, and most will still be in their pods, asleep or preparing for the day ahead. With his pick of tables, he takes one at the far end of the room, on the corner opposite the vendors, and slides onto the cold bench, facing front, waiting, watching, for Kurt.

When he sees him he can't contain the upward pull he feels on his lips, drawing them over his teeth and into an enthusiastic smile. Kurt stands for a moment at the entrance of the room, obviously scanning for Dave, and all Dave wants to do is jump up out of his seat, run across the hall and grab him right where he stands...but he doesn't. He has a little self-control left. Instead, he seizes the chance to just watch him as he bounces lightly on his heels; his eyes are wide and bright, vivid aquamarine even from the back of the room, and his hands curl and uncurl in a slightly nervous action at his sides. His hair looks different, swept back instead of side-parted and it only makes his eyes look bigger and brighter, highlights his delicate bones and the subtle arch of his brows. It further blurs the difference between him and his Counter, and Dave's not sure whether to be grateful for that or not. When their eyes meet, their  _conversation_  from the night before flashes into his mind, and Dave feels a flush of heat rise up from his chest all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Hey, you," Kurt greets him as he moves eagerly towards the table. Dave's relieved to see Kurt return the fervour in his smile. They crossed another line last night and, well, this  _thing_  they have is still so new, so foreign, to Dave that he's never sure quite what to expect.

Instead of sitting opposite him, as he usually would, Kurt perches on the same bench as Dave, sliding in close. Dave feels his legs part a little of their own accord, urging his thigh closer to Kurt's so they're touching hip-to-knee. The heat of his skin pervades the thin layers of fabric separating them and rekindles the fire in his gut. He swallows and clasps his hands in front of him on the table, ensuring they're in plain view; he doesn't trust them not to wander.

Kurt mimics the motion which causes their elbows to meet. It's only the barest skin-to-skin contact but it's the confirmation Dave needed that Kurt feels  _this_  just as much as he does. And  _fuck_ , he never had any idea that touching someone's elbow could feel so fucking  _erotic._  He darts out his tongue to wet suddenly dry lips and Kurt shifts in his seat, bumping at Dave's hip, eliciting a little groan of desperate laughter.

"We are so screwed." Dave murmurs, scrunching his eyes and dropping his head forward so it's bent in towards his chest.

"You're right," Kurt deadpans, his voice characteristically high but with a distinct raspy edge. "We should go our separate ways now and never speak of this again." He doesn't move away from Dave, though. Not an inch. And when Dave turns his head to look up at him he can't suppress another smile. Kurt bumps his hip again and shifts his upper body so they're touching shoulder-to-shoulder, too.

Dave shakes his head in defeat. "You're a bad influence, Hummel."

"Me?" He asks, innocently, though his eyes are a little lidded and look darker in color than usual. Dave isn't sure if it's just the light in the room or the effect of...whatever it is they're doing.

"Yes,  _you_ ," Dave pauses and nudges at his shoulder a little. He can't bring himself to break the contact, his body devouring as much of it as he can get, his skin suddenly  _starving_  for it. "I had a nice, safe, boring routine going before you came."

"Before I  _came_?" Kurt asks with an impious grin and stretches his clasped hands out in front of him on the table. The action catches Dave's eye and he lingers for a moment on the slow, subtle motion of Kurt's thumbs circling one another – stroking,  _caressing_  – before he has to pull his gaze away. Dave's almost sure the gesture wasn't meant to mean anything, that it shouldn't be  _doing_  things to him, right here in the floor's refectory, but his almost permanent state of semi-arousal in Kurt's presence - along with the not-so-subtle innuendo in his words– lead Dave to picture  _exactly_  what those dexterous thumbs were caressing the night before.

All he can do is emit a little groan as he tries weakly to draw himself away from the crazy, beautiful,  _infuriatingly_ tempting boy at his side.

"Okay," Kurt clears his throat and gathers himself. He smiles wickedly and nudges Dave's hip with his own a final time before sliding out of his seat. "Let's eat. I'm ravenous."

Dave feels that heat extend all the way to his toes now as he covers his face with his hands and mumbles "Give me a minute," through his fingers.

" _Come_  again?"

"Oof," Dave lets out a little rumble of wounded laughter and parts his fingers to look at Kurt who's now standing opposite him, straight-faced, leaning forwards with his hands flat on the table. "You're evil," he mutters.

Kurt doesn't reply to that, but his smile returns, smooth and self-satisfied, though his cheeks are as red as Dave's feel. He turns on his heel, strutting towards the vendor at the end of the line and,  _fuck_ , looking at Kurt's ass as he walks isn't helping his situation one little bit.

Dave shifts uncomfortably in his seat and attempt to pull his erection up and into the waistband of his boxers. He eyes the girl in the yellow jumpsuit warily, but she's sitting seemingly oblivious at the door, staring at the ad stream playing above one of the vendors. As he stands, Kurt looks back at him from over his shoulder, eyes twinkling in the harsh light. "You  _coming_  yet?"

And fuck, he'll get Kurt back for this. He just has to work out how to do it without breaking any rules.

* * *

Giddy relief floods Kurt's system at the ease of their playful repartee. It felt good to walk into the refectory to find Dave already waiting for him, smiling a little too-wide, but this? The playful  _touching_ , the out-and-out flirting; the knowledge that these  _feelings_  he has for Dave – feelings he can't even put a name to yet – are being so readily reciprocated?  _This_  feels fucking amazing.

As they return to their table with food from the vendors, Dave jerks his head, indicating for Kurt to sit first, then slides into the relatively safe spot at the opposite side of the table, shooting Kurt a wayward smile.

He pulls his lips into a pout, though he knows it's for the best. Sitting together, pressed close side by side, was nice but...maybe a little too nice while they're both feeling so  _sensitive._

Dave unwraps his breakfast burrito and lets his knee graze against Kurt's under the table. "So, how much did that call cost you last night?"

"I think it may have cost me most of my sanity," he replies with a grin and takes a sip of his vita-water before finishing, quietly, "Almost forty thousand."

Dave's eyes widen. "That's a lot."

"It is, but -" Kurt starts, watching the light flicker in Dave's eyes as he speaks at the same time.

" -It was..."

Kurt bites his lip through a smile and they spend a long, quiet moment just looking at each other. He realizes this may well be the  _eye-fucking_  Santana was talking about and the knowledge sets his cheeks ablaze.

Dave breaks the silence, shifting in his seat so their knees are no longer touching, voice low. "I want to do it again. I mean, if you do. I want to." He looks hopefully at Kurt and takes another bite of his burrito.

Kurt nods back at him enthusiastically, attempting a smile. A small shiver of anticipation tears up his spine.

"I do," he says, a little breathless. There's palpable tension in the small space between them and Kurt's glad - honestly, he is – when the girl in the jumpsuit comes to grab the discarded wrappers from their table.

They each eat in silence as she hovers for a while near their table, knees pressing together again underneath.

When she moves, Dave leans forward conspiratorially, "We can't... _y'know_...all the time, or we'll never make it to fifteen."

"I know." Kurt says, with a little more indignation than he intended.

Dave looks flustered, "I just mean that I...if we did, then I'd  _want_  to and...I don't know if I could..."

"Shh," Kurt hushes him with a soft smile. "I know what you mean. And you're right."

Dave smiles bashfully back at him, hands toying nervously with his water bottle. "I was thinking that maybe if we save it for...I don't know, milestones or whatever."

"Milestones?" Kurt asks, curious.

Dave's cheeks flush fuscia-pink. "Like, it can be something to look forward to when we reach certain goals?" He shrugs his shoulders and his eyes flit nervously around the room. "I just don't want to... _not_  do it again."

Kurt's grateful that they're on the same page. If he could, he'd march right back to his pod, shove his buds in his ears and call Dave right his second. He nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically. "That's...perfect. A reward when we reach a milestone. Like, every hundred thousand credits?"

Dave laughs and shakes his head at Kurt's apparent voracity. "Maybe more like every five-hundred thousand? I don't know what'll work."

"We should talk about this later," Kurt says, mirroring Dave's body language, leaning forward with his arms folded across the table, "work out the details."

"Yeah," Dave's smile widens and he lowers his voice again. "It's just, I think you know that you..." he closes his eyes for a moment, and Kurt holds his breath as he watches the silent bobbing of his Adam's apple, "...you drive me kinda crazy. In a good way."

That thrum in Kurt's chest is now a full blown vibration. He feels like he might just shake right out of his seat. He tries to draw in a long, steadying breath as Dave continues.

"While we're here, I'd like to, if you do, be together, y'know?  _Somehow_ ," Dave reaches his hand across the table, stopping just short of Kurt's fingertips, "but I don't want to waste all your credits."

Kurt edges his fingers forward in response, the motion slight but, he hopes, unambiguous. Their fingertips touch for the briefest moment before Dave pulls his hand back. Kurt feels his legs tremble like he's just done eight hours of pedalling.

"We just have to be careful, because I think the more we... _y'know_ , the more normal  _this_  becomes, the harder it's gonna get to stick to the rules."

"It's getting hard already." Kurt manages to say, trying to break the tension. He hooks a finger into the collar of his shirt, attempting a wobbly smile.

Dave chuckles. "Stop that."

"What?" Kurt asks softly and hooks his calf around Dave's, letting his foot stroke up and down in one fluid movement.

He thrills to see Dave biting his lip to stifle a little groan at the touch. "See?" He grits out. " _Bad influence_."

Kurt pulls back, sitting upright in his seat. "I know. I'm sorry." He says, still toying with the collar of his t-shirt. "You're right. But I should call you tonight; we can talk about it some more, in private."

Dave quirks his brow at Kurt's ersatz-innocence and shakes his head in doubt.

"No,  _really_." He attempts to convince himself as much as Dave. "We'll hatch a plan. Set some goals, a schedule, whatever it takes. I want to...be  _together_ , too. Until we can both get out of here."

Dave's golden eyes stay locked with Kurt's. "We've got at least six months, right?"

"Right," Kurt agrees. It seems like both forever and no time at all.

" _Motherfucking piece of shit!"_

A loud wail and a crashing noise disrupts them both and Kurt turns his head to see a girl bashing at a vendor with the heels of her hands. He turns back to Dave and rolls his eyes.

"I guess it's time to get moving."

"I guess so," Kurt says with a sigh as he stands and rounds the table. They walk side-by-side out of the refectory and into the corridor, their arms touching as they walk unhurriedly.

"I like your hair like that, by the way." Dave says with a small smile, chancing a quick glance at Kurt before dropping his eyes back to the floor in front of them.

"Why, thank you," he replies, allowing the backs of their hands brush each other. They're almost at a standstill now, barely moving forward at all, "but don't try to distract me, Karofsky."

"What?"

"Flattery will get you..." Their eyes meet and he allows the statement to hang between them, unfinished. "Come on," he urges, eventually, coaxing his legs to move again, leaving Dave a few steps behind. "We have pedalling to do," he says and looks back at Dave over his shoulder with a wink, "milestones to reach."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been quite a ride for canon-Kurtofsky and, like most of us, I was incredibly moved by what happened in 'On My Way'. In light of all the feels floating around, I think it's only fair to warn you all now that things will take an incredibly angsty turn in this fic pretty soon. I feel like I can't be more specific without spoilering the whole thing, but what I will say is that events from the original story this fic is based on – 'Fifteen Million Merits' – will be taking place but, and I stress, the ending will be different (read: happy). You can Google it or message me if you'd like to know specifics.
> 
> Thanks for reading :) If you're enjoying this fic, please take a second to let me know you're out there! Thanks to those who have.

Dave sits on the edge of his bed, looking back and forth between the still of Kurt's Counter on his wall and the 'live call' icon on his dash. He's tired and sweaty from pedalling, exhausted from nine hours of being simultaneously charmed and tormented by Kurt on the floor. What started in the refectory that morning had continued throughout the day; the playful innuendo and lingering glances. The  _touching_. The day had been long and hard and utterly fucking fantastic.

He thinks back to the days before Kurt got here and, though barely two weeks have passed, his world feels like a different place. Everything has changed. Before, Dave was comfortable in his lonely routine; he pedalled, he ate, he slept. He accepted the everyday drudgery, the steady isolation, because he thought the alternative was a distraction he didn't need. But now he knows better. Now he's had a taste, whether he  _needs_  it or not, he wants it. And he knows that this kind of day can't become normal – he doesn't think either of them has  _that_  much restraint – but he's glad to have it once-in-a-while: a small, bright flash of light in an otherwise endless dark tunnel of routine. He knows that, this way, it'll take him longer to reach his destination, but at least now he gets to enjoy the ride.

Dave sighs and pulls off his clammy t-shirt before falling back on his bed. He eyes his digits -  _101,877 –_  weighing up whether to call now or wait, like they'd agreed. An ad for Puck's Play starts to play and he groans out loud, skipping it quickly before it gives him any ideas, and his eyes wander back towards Kurt's grinning Counter on the display. He shouldn't want to talk to Kurt right now, barely thirty minutes after leaving the floor. He shouldn't be so keen to spend the credits he just worked hard to earn on something that can easily wait. He should be hitting the shower, watching something cheap and dumb on stream to distract him until Kurt calls, but...Fuck it. He knows he should wait, but he doesn't  _want_  to. Instead, he swings his legs up onto his bed, leans his head back against the cool vis-wall behind him, and hits the 'live call' icon.

" _Hey,"_ Kurt answers after a few bursts of the alert tone, his tone light and lyrical _, "you should've let me call you."_

"Nah, figured it's my tu-"

" _Give me a second,"_  Kurt interrupts, and Dave hears music being cut off in the background then a series of small muffled sounds before Kurt lets out a little satisfied sigh.

"What're you doing?" Dave asks, vaguely amused at the idea of disrupting Kurt in the middle of  _whatever_.

" _Putting in my buds and securing my towel."_

Dave feels his lips twitch towards a smile. "Your towel?"

" _You interrupted my shower."_  He says with a hint of forced annoyance before his tone softens. " _But I guess I can forgive you."_

Dave chuckles, "You're such a  _tease_."

" _No I'm not!"_ Kurthuffs, apparently incensed at the very suggestion _. "How does this constitute me being a tease?"_

"Oh, your  _towel_. You just want me to picture you all..." Dave pauses as he swallows, conjuring up the image in his mind. He lowers his voice, "naked. And wet."

" _It's not my fault you called when you weren't supposed to. Or that you have a dirty, filthy mind."_

"Hmm," Dave intones, not at all convinced.

" _Anyway,"_  Kurt begins, his Counter's expression shifts from sweet-smile to wicked-grin and he lowers his voice seductively,  _"What are_ you _wearing?"_

"See?"

" _I'm kidding, I'm kidding!"_  He protests with a giggle.  _"I don't actually care. At all. Let's_ talk _."_

"You're killing me today, you know that, right?"

" _How so?"_ Kurt asks, feigning innocence.

"Hmmf," Dave shrugs into his pillow and feels heat creep up his spine. "By being so...so  _sexy._ "

" _Shut up."_ He's a little surprised at this stage that Kurt still has the decency to sound bashful.

"You asked. And you  _know_ you are."

" _I'm about as sexy as a...baby penguin."_

"Well, I like penguins." He pauses, feeling surprisingly coy himself. "Penguins are cute.  _You're_  cute."

Kurt makes a small, muffled breathy sound before saying anything else.  _" Anyway, we, um...we have more important things to talk about. We have goals to set. Right?"_

Dave's quietly please to hear the quiver in Kurt's voice. "Right."

" _So... every time we get to five hundred thousand, we can do_ this _. That's like, every two weeks? Depending on how many—"_

"Do what?" Dave interrupts Kurt's chatter. He feels mischievous. He said he'd get Kurt back for being a tease and, well, now seems like a good time to enact his revenge.

" _Um,_ this. _A live call. Talking and...stuff."_ Kurt replies, sounding more than a little flustered.

"Stuff?" He asks again, biting back a smile.

" _David..."_

"What?" He motions towards his dash and makes his Counter look as wide-eyed and innocent as he can.

" _Who's teasing now?"_

"What? I just need a little clarity."

" _You need clarity?"_ Kurt asks, failing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice _._

"Yeah."

Kurt laughs softly and the sound tickles Dave's ears. He continues, speaking slowly and clearly, playing along.  _"Well, when we each reach five-hundred thousand credits, we can treat ourselves to a live call, like this. It will give us a chance to discuss...more personal matters."_

"Right." He nods to himself and his Counter mimics the motion. "Personal matters. Such as...?"

Kurt heaves an exasperated sigh but his Counter's still smiling.  _"Such as...our hopes and dreams...our deepest fears and greatest desires."_

"Desires, huh?" Dave asks, and lets his hand trail absently across the hair on his chest.

" _Yes._ Desires _."_ The emphasis he puts on the word makes it sound profane in Dave's ears.

"So, tell me some of your desires."

" _Hmm,"_  he sounds thoughtful for a moment,  _"it's my desire to be doing_ this _with you right now."_

"That so?" Dave asks, voice dropping low as he winces at the sweet ache of his dick straining against the suddenly tight fabric of his shorts. "And what is it we're doing again?"

" _Oh, y'know,"_ Kurt begins and his voice has taken on the same deliciously breathless tone as the night before, " _just talking and...stuff."_

Dave groans aloud and a laugh escapes his lips despite the pain he's in. "Stuff..."

" _Mmm-hmm,"_  Kurt agrees with a stuttered breath.

"Have you started doing  _stuff_ without me?" Dave asks, manoeuvring to pull his pants and underwear down enough to free his erection.

" _M-maybe..."_  Kurt pauses to let out a little whimper _"...but feel free to join me whenever you're ready."_

With that, Dave does; he jerks roughly at his shaft and doesn't bite back the sounds that erupt from his throat when he does. To his pleasure, neither does Kurt.  _This i_ s still new to them both, and though they're bolder than last time, their roundabout dirty-talk falters when there's no dubiety left in what they're doing.

Kurt hums through his arousal, a desperate mewling sound that resonates like a song in Dave's ears until it morphs into a beautiful, broken chant of  _"David, David..."_ to signal his orgasm.

" _Please_...fuck... _yes_ ," Dave manages to grit out as he teases the swollen head of his cock, thumbing at the slit, slippery with precum, on each swift upstroke. As he hears Kurt unravel with one final growl of his name, he's teetering on the edge, falling apart at the seams and the sound of Kurt breathing, keening in his ears, makes it feel like he's right there, in his mind, _inside_  him, and he comes in a bright, white blast that steals his breath and stills his heartbeat for what feels like forever.

" _So, that was..."_  Kurt whispers, an audible quiver his voice, rousing Dave from his stupor after what might be a minute or an hour or a day.

A dreamy "Yeah, it was," is all Dave can muster under the circumstances.

Kurt lets out a little snort of laughter, "You're  _the bad influence, Karofsky."_

"Me? Nah...I don't think so. This is all on you."

Kurt expels a little huff of laughter that turns into a sigh. " _I should probably go...do you actually have any credits left?"_

He doesn't even look at his digits. "Probably not. And I really need to shower. If I can stand...I'm kinda...tangled." He says as he tries to wriggle all the way out of his pants.

" _What_ are  _you wearing, anyway?"_

"I'm still in my clothes from today. Kind of."

" _Ew. Time to hit that shower, you dirty boy."_

"I know," he laughs and attempts to sit up. "I'm going."

" _Goodnight, David. I-"_  Kurt pauses and makes a small under-his-breath sound that Dave can't quite place. " _I-I'll see you tomorrow. We'll get back to normal, huh? Meet you on the floor at eight?"_

"I'll be there. Waiting for your lazy ass."

" _I know you will. Now go."_

"G'night..."

Dave pulls himself up and off his bed, onto shaky legs, as he strips off the remainder of his clothes and bundles them into the laundry chute. He steps under the showerhead, commanding 'Cool, full stream' and enjoys the rush of the chill water against his overheated skin. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirrorscreen and he's grinning like fool. It's lame, he knows, even as he thinks it, but this might have been the best day of his life. He's never felt so...alive. And even though they can't have  _this_  every day, the normal they're going back to isn't the normal he once knew; they have each other. They can talk, they  _can_ share their hopes and dreams and fears and desires. They can laugh and cry and come and know that, although they can't really be  _together_ , they're not alone anymore, either.

 

* * *

Kurt walks down the corridor with a spring in his step and, when he enters the elevator, smiles widely at the strangers inside.

He knew his life would change after coming to the floor, one way or another. But  _this_? He never expected anything like it. Not the near-instant pull he felt towards his handsome, wannabe-footballer bikemate and not the rapidly growing range of emotion that boy manages to stir in him, day after day.

As he exits the elevator and rounds the corner towards his floor, he feels  _excited_ at the prospect of another day on the floor with Dave. And why shouldn't he?

Kurt knows he'd destined for a better life than the one he's been given, and he's here to earn that chance. He truly believes he'll make it off the floor - that one day he'll have success and  _wealth_  and friends and  _lovers_  – and he knows,  _he's sure_ , that he won't let anything hold him back. But, if he has a chance at something better  _now_ , a little taste of something real right here for the taking, why shouldn't he grab that, too?

" _You've got something special, kid, and you can have anything you want in this world if you're willing to work hard enough for it,"_  his Dad had told him, and those words overrode those other ones, about not making friends and there being plenty of time. Those words always stuck.

What Kurt wants more than anything is to sing. He wants to make it to the edge. He wants to choose his clothes and style his hair; he wants to be seen and to be admired, he wants a room filled with furniture and trinkets, a view of the outside world. He wants someone to love that loves him back. One day, he wants a life that's all his own. He  _doesn't_ want to be that lonely queer kid he used to be.

As he strides up the walkway towards his bike, Dave's there, like he said he'd be; pedalling, waiting. And, when he catches sight of Kurt heading his way, he pauses and takes a breath before shooting him a beaming smile.

"Good morning, Mr Karofsky," Kurt says with faux-formally as he climbs onto his bike.

"Good morning, Mr Hummel." Dave replies with a nod and a cheeky wink. "I have an idea."

Kurt raises an eyebrow at him, dubious."Go on."

"You said a while ago that you wanted to learn more about football?"

"Okay..." Kurt starts to push at the pedals and wave his hand to activate his dash.

"Let's watch a game." Dave says and an alert pops up on Kurt's screen. "Together."

_**David Karofsky likes Pro-Virtua Football Beiste's Bears vs Tanaka's Titans. Watch now?** _

Kurt sends him a questioning look. Dave leans towards him a little, lowering his voice, "I thought it'd be a good... _distraction_."

"Watching big, burly guys run around in tight pants, slamming into each other? That could definitely be  _distracting_."

"Quit it." He says, shaking his head but still smiling.

Kurt bites his tongue and stays quiet at that. He accepts the suggestion on his screen and watches as the players run onto the v-field. He pedals with a sappy smile on his face, because, right now, this is all he wants. To talk and smile and laugh and flirt and bend the rules with this handsome boy who somehow seems to want those things with him, too.

What he wants is David Karofsky, in any way he's allowed to have him. And he's not afraid to work for what he wants.

* * *

"So, why football, anyway?" Kurt asks as he neatly peels the paper wrapping from his apple.

They'd watched a game together on the floor, and it was fun, though Dave's pretty sure Kurt's questions were more to humor him than educate himself on the finer points of the game. Now, back in the refectory, their daily moment of almost-alone time, they stick to safe topics of conversation, even as they play footsy under the table.

"I'm not sure." Dave laughs and shrugs his shoulders, chewing on a bite of his  _Wonderbar._  "It grew on me, y'know? I was actually kind of academic, but my parents didn't want me to end up fast-tracked into a position as an educator, like my Dad, so..."

"You could've been fast-tracked?" Kurt asks, surprised.

Dave nods his head in affirmation.

"In what field?"

"Mathematics."

Kurt's eyes grow wide. He looks half-impressed, half-amused. "You're a math whiz?"

"No," He shakes his head and laughs. "I guess I  _could've_  been, but..."

He watches Kurt's smile grow wide and start to feel a little self-conscious.

"What? Not as dumb as I look, huh?"

"No. Not at all, just...you're smart, athletic, handsome..." Kurt's eyes light up as he lists Dave's alleged attributes.

He feels his cheeks grow warm under the heated gaze. "I don't know about  _any_  of those things, but..."

"Hey," Kurt knees him gently under the table. "Don't sell yourself short."

He attempts to straighten his shoulders a little and lets his knee rest against the warmth of Kurt's. "Anyway, I was kinda quiet, y'know? Shy and...I guess they knew I was different."

"By different you mean gay?" Kurt says, sardonically.

"Yeah, I guess." Dave peels anxiously at the label on his water bottle. He's never talked to anyone about this kind of stuff before. "My Mom thought it might toughen me up or something."

"You seem pretty tough to me."

"Must've worked, huh?" Dave replies with a jokey smile.

"Why didn't they want you to be an educator?"

He sighs as he thinks back to all the arguments, the heated words and cold shoulders. They weren't happy memories.

"When my Mom and Dad met, I think she thought being an educator was more glamorous than it turned out to be. My Dad had been to the edge, but...that didn't mean she got to go." Dave feels his shoulders sag as he speaks and reminds himself that this is  _Kurt_  he's talking to; he doesn't have anything to hide. "When I was twelve, she told me that she never loved my Dad and that if I turned out anything like him, no-one would ever love me either, so..."

"That's..." Kurt trails off, he looks horrified.

"I know, right?" He laughs, a little bitterly. "So, I guess I just tried to be something else."

"Well, I  _l-like_  you, athlete or academic, or both." Kurt drops the folded paper he's been playing with and reaches out to rest a fleeting hand on Dave's wrist. He smiles, small and lopsided. "I'm glad you ended up here."

Dave returns his smile and soaks up the tenderness in the too-brief touch. "Me too."

 

 

* * *

"My Mom and Dad met on the floor," Kurt says after a heavy pause, swallowing his last bite of apple, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Oh yeah?"

Kurt nods, and feels a little flush of embarrassment warm his cheeks. He plays with the paper wrapper in his hands. "It's kinda funny, actually. My dad wanted to play football," he gestures towards Dave with a slim finger then points it back at himself, "and my Mom wanted to sing."

"Oh, that's..." Dave shakes his head and chuckles.

"Yeah," he laughs. "I know my Dad was never  _that_  serious about it, though. He actually loves what he does, he's a simple pleasures kinda guy. But he says my Mom was more ambitious."

"But...she never made it?"

"She never  _really_  tried, as far as I know. I mean, it was little different back then, before  _Star Shot_ , but...I don't really know the details. My dad didn't like to talk about it too much. He always felt guilty. He feels like he held her back, I guess." He shrugs and looks down, sadly, at the creased paper in his hands. He realises quickly that his attempt to lift the mood has failed miserably.

"When did she...?" Dave asks, hesitantly. They've talked about their lives before the floor, but not in any great detail.

"When I was eight."

"That's-"

"A long time ago. It's ok." He looks at Dave in earnest.

"You know I would never...I'd never stand in your way. Whatever happens."

"I know," he smiles and reaches his hand across the table again. Their fingertips are close, and graze just for a split second, but it's enough to send a little spark of electricity all the way up his arm and to his chest. "I know," he repeats. "Me neither."

They sit in silence for a while as Dave finishes his lunch. Kurt folds and refolds the wrapper from his apple, shaping it into a little figure, enjoying making something from nothing, just like he had when he was little.

"What are you doing?" Dave asks with a fond smile, gesturing towards his hands.

"My mom showed me how to make them when I was a kid." He feels a sad smile tug his lips at the memory. "She said that whenever we were apart, that whenever I felt lonesome or frightened, I could make one of these and know that I wasn't alone."

He twirls the paper figure between his fingers and lifts his eyes to meet Dave's. He's smiling at him, small and sweet and achingly sincere. His hand moves absently forward on the tabletop as he asks, "What is it?"

"Oh," Kurt drops his gaze towards the figure again, feeling heat prick his skin. "It's a penguin."

Dave's smile broadens and there's a gleam in his eye, but it's not teasing, it's warm and accepting and affectionate. His hand opens up, reaching, and he asks, "Can I...?"

"Sure," Kurt hands over the paper penguin and watches with a smile as Dave toys with it.

"Can I keep it?" Dave asks, uncertainly.

Kurt feels suddenly silly and self-conscious. He feels his cheeks blush further still. "I...Yes, if you want to, but, they won't  _let_  you keep it, they never do..."

Dave sits the penguin upright on the table between them and shrugs, "I'll hold onto it for as long as they'll let me."

* * *

**_  
_ **


	12. Chapter 12

It's been twelve days.

 _Only_ twelve days, Kurt reminds himself, and checks his digits for what must be the millionth time today:  _441,788_. They're moving in the right direction, but at a maddeningly slow pace, as he pedals and pedals and  _pedals._  He looks towards Dave with a pout.

"What?" Dave asks, a quirk in his brow and a lightly teasing tone to his voice.

"Nothing." Kurt replies, a little too brusquely.

Dave laughs and shakes his head, "You're almost there." he says, turning back towards his screen with an amused expression.

Kurt makes a little harrumphing sound. Yeah, he's  _almost_  at five-hundred thousand - their self-styled signpost for sexytimes - but Dave got there  _yesterday_  and now he wants to kick himself for not ironing out the finer points of their plan before  _this_  happened.

" _So..." he smiled seductively across at Dave, stretching his legs out under the table, letting one foot brush against the other boy's muscled calf before crossing them at the ankle._

" _So?" Dave raised his eyebrows in question._

_Kurt smiled broadly. "Looks like you'll hit five-hundred thousand today."_

" _Looks like it." Dave said in sober response._

_Kurt felt his smile falter. "That's...a good thing, right?"_

" _Oh, I guess." Dave shrugged. "But_ _ **you've**_ _still got a ways to go..."_

" _What does that-?"_

" _We both have to get there before..." Kurt's eyes were drawn to the little flick of Dave's tongue, darting out to wet his lips as he paused, "...y'know."_

" _No," He shook his head and said firmly, "that wasn't the plan."_

" _Yeah, it totally was. Every time we_ _ **both**_ _reach five-hundred thousand, we can..." Dave wiggled his eyebrows and trailed off, a little smile returning to his lips._

" _No" He drew out the word, locking eyes with Dave as he spoke, "when one of us gets there, we can call the other, and we can...talk and-"_

" _That's cheating, Kurt." Dave had cut him off, shaking his head a little. "I'm kinda disappointed in you right now."_

_Kurt smiled in spite of himself, taken by the roguish look on Dave's face. "That is not cheating!" He insisted. "You know I'm not the type to renege on an agreement, but-"_

" _Well, I never thought so before." Dave shrugged and took a slug of his water._

" _Are you being serious right now?" Kurt sat up straight and pulled his legs back. If he happened to kick Dave in the process, well, maybe it wasn't entirely by accident._

" _It's serious business." Dave said, narrowing his eyes, licking the residual moisture from his lips a little too slowly._

" _But..." Kurt felt his pout return as he widened his eyes in a last ditch attempt to garner a little pity._

" _But what?"_

" _Don't you want to...?" He was sure of the answer, 99.9% sure that this was just part of Dave's plan, the fun of the preamble, but he couldn't deny that doubt had started to niggle at the edges of his rapidly crumbling sanity._

" _Of course I do." Dave smiled wickedly and leaned across the table, resting on his elbows. "It's just kind of fun, seeing you get all...worked up."_

" _I'm just so," Kurt let out an exasperated grunt and nudged his foot against Dave's in a feeble kick. He managed to catch himself before he said it –_ _ **horny**_ _– and instead eyed the tables around them, lowering his voice, "tired of waiting."_

" _It'll be worth it." Dave said with a wink and pulled himself up in his seat, thumb stroking suggestively at the opening of the bottle in his hand._

" _But..."_

" _You think it's not worth waiting for?"_

" _No, it's ... of course it is, but..." Kurt babbled in frustration._

" _Well then."_

_Kurt huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. This wasn't helping his current condition at all._

_Dave stood up, looking way too amused with himself as he asked, "You coming?"_

" _Evidently not anytime soon." Kurt muttered under his breath as he stood to follow Dave back to the floor._

He grits his teeth and wills his legs to move faster as he flicks through the menu on his dash, trying to find something to watch that might hold his attention. It's not that these past twelve days haven't been nice. Because they have; they've been better than nice. Getting to share his days with Dave has been... _incredible_. He's never had a friend like Dave before. Hell, he can't even  _believe_ he has a friend like Dave now. On the surface, they're poles apart; he sees people looking at them sometimes with little question marks in their eyes. Dave's a big guy, lean but burly; serious looking and straight acting. And Kurt, well, Kurt's none of those things. But he never really believed in any of that 'opposites attract' garbage and he still doesn't. Because it's not about how they look or how they act when they're apart; it's not about what streams they watch or how they dress their Counters, what zone they came from or where they want to end up after this. With him and Dave, it's about how they  _feel_  when they're together. It's about their shared experiences of wanting and waiting and working towards  _something_ ; those same-but-different scenarios they've lived through, learned through, and the desire they share to  _be_  and  _do_  more than those around them ever thought they could. And, yes,  _absolutely_  it's about their mutual attraction – how their differences draw them together while setting them apart, but mostly, it's about how underneath those distinctions, where it really counts, when it comes down to the things that really matter, they're exactly alike.

They've fallen into an effortless daily routine, these past couple of weeks, of friendly chit-chat and playful challenges. They distract each other with speed races or cardio battles,  _Trivia Trap_  tests and other Counter competitions. Dave isn't afraid to call him out when he gets lazy or whiny, and he isn't afraid to call Dave out for being grouchy or uncouth. They'll quietly stream the same movie or show or game to watch together as they get tired, when they're pedalling towards the day's end. They share lunch in the refectory every day and use that time to talk, properly, about the past and the future. Talk of the present is mostly saved for the messages they exchange, sometimes during the day, but mostly at night, from the seclusion of their individual pods. Those messages are sometimes sweet ( _'Your Counter looks almost as cute as you would in those jammies.'_ ), sometimes suggestive (' _But I bet in person you'd look better out of them ;D'_ ) but, more often than not, innocuous in their affection ( _'Goodnight. Can't wait to see you in the morning.'_ ).

And it's all been so nice, but...damn it, he has  _urges._  And, as his feelings grow, so does his appetite. He's greedy. He wants all this with Dave and  _more._

He glances over at Dave again, who's still smiling that knowing, taunting smile as he climbs off his bike and nods towards the exit. "Gotta go pee."

"Need a  _hand_?"

Dave's smile fades a little and Kurt can see the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows before he lets out a nervous little laugh and shakes his head.

As Dave disappears from view Kurt doesn't let his gaze to follow the other boy, just in case the temptation to  _actually_  follow him to the restroom, like some kind of pervy creeper, becomes too much.

Instead, he waves his hand to flip with more force than is necessary through the streams on his menu, failing to find something suitably distracting to watch.

He'd always imagined what it would be like to have someone like Dave, before. Though in his own imagination, Kurt Hummel was far more coy and unassuming; the chas _ee_  rather than the chas _er_. In reality, he was stunned by his own boldness; by the eager bravado that steals his senses whenever Dave's around.

He wasn't prepared for this  _desire_ he feels; the deep, biting heat that courses through his body, through his blood, whenever Dave gives him even the slightest bit of encouragement. Those kinds of  _feelings_ , he'd once thought, weren't for someone like him. He was a self-confessed romantic, yes; but a romantic  _realist_. He believed that when he felt it –  _this_ – that it would be something sweet and pure and tenable. He had expected to feel a flutter in his chest and warmth in his cheeks; he hoped he'd swoon at the thought of soft kisses and tender caresses, and - okay,  _yes,_  he knew he'd have  _urges_   _–_ he wanted a little  _passion_ , though thought it'd be nothing he couldn't control if he'd wanted to. He hadn't expected this kind of hunger; the absolute and unapologetic  _lust_  he feels for this boy, the yearning to touch and be touched, in the rights ways and in wrong places. Dave manages to stir something base and wanton inside of him and...

It's a  _little_  overwhelming.

Kurt sucks in a deep, calming breath and wills his mind out of the gutter. He can't find anything he deems worthy of spending his credits on while such a precious commodity is at stake. When an extended promo for  _Star Shot_  appears on his screen, he's a little relieved that it's  _something_  to watch and lets in play in full.

And anyway, if he's not willing to waste any precious credits on choosing to watch something, he's certainly not willing to waste them on skipping. And he  _is_  interested in the workings of this show. At least, he usually is. He tries to focus on the special promo for new judge Noah Puckerman who, Kurt thinks, despite his questionable morals and terrible hair, has turned out to be a somewhat entertaining addition to the judging panel.

_***Puckerman's voice plays over a montage of delighted auditionees*** _

" _ **I'm on the lookout for nightstream talent, pure and simple. That's my business, but –"**_

_***A red-headed girl cries, a broad-shouldered guy punches the air and a skinny black girl jumps for joy, each intercut with Puckerman's smiling face, backed by a trite hip-hop beat*** _

" _ **-the trick is not just to spot someone with talent; but to spot**_ _what_ _ **that person's talent is, whether they know it or not."**_

_***Puckerman's voice continues as former** _ _Puck's Play_ _**stream pin-up and ex-** _ _Star Shot_ _**judge Brittany S. Pierce's original audition for** _ _Dance Your Ass Off_ _**plays in muted black and white.*** _

" _ **When I spotted Brittany, she just wanted to dance and, yeah, she was good. But with a pole? She was even better. There's no shortage of dancers out there. Do you think everyone would know that name now if she was still just a dancer? No way."**_

_***A speedy montage tracking Brittany's rise to fame plays: pole-dancer - soft porn star - host of** _ _Pole Position_ _**– singer - Judge on** _ _Star Shot_ _***** _

" _ **I saw something inside her-"**_

_***-cut to Puckerman smiling lasciviously-*** _

" _ **-and look at where she is now. One of the biggest superstars of the last few years, and not only on the nightstream, but she crossed over too. That's what I'm looking for on this show - people with that kind of potential."**_

_***The Star Shot logo replaces Puckerman's face and the voiceover plays, backed by Brittany S Pierce singing 'Slave 4U'*** _

" _ **Do you have hidden potential? Let Noah Puckerman be the judge. Buy your audition ticket today!"**_

"Oh look, if it isn't  _Star Shit_."

The promo ends just as Santana speaks. She wipes the back of her hand across her sweaty forehead and looks up disapprovingly at Kurt.

"So you enjoy the show, too?" He says in the most upbeat manner he can muster. Despite spending his days sitting as close to Santana as he does to Dave, they mostly ignore each other. And he prefers it that way; every time they do speak, she seems intent on raising his hackles. He finds that adopting an overtly-cheerful facade in response is the most effective method of scaring her off.

"Yeah, about I as much as I enjoy having that saddle chafing my vajayjay for eight hours every day."

Kurt blinks back at her, wrinkling his nose. "Thank you for that mental image."

She purses her full lips and looks questioningly at him for a long moment. "This is the dream, huh?" She asks, finally.

Kurt finds himself cooling off considerably under her icy gaze. "It's part of what I'm working towards, yes."

Santana's eyes are dark and inscrutable as she tilts her head up and smiles that small, acerbic smile she often wears. She rests a hand on her hip. "You want a glamorous life on the edge – billions of credits, adoring fans," she lowers her voice, "all the dick you can suck?"

There are so many things he wants to say in reply to  _that_ , but he bites his tongue in favor of an easy life and settles for pairing a disdainful look with his most mordant tone. "Something like that."

"Careful what you wish for, ladyface," She says, almost sadly, and walks quickly away, passing Dave on the walkway as she heads for the exit.

"Hey," Dave greets him as he clambers back onto his bike. He jerks his head back towards the exit. "She okay? She seemed a little..."

Kurt rolls his eyes, "Doesn't she always?"

Dave laughs at that. "I guess."

Kurt feels the tension melt away from his shoulders as he watches Dave wiggle his ass to get comfortable in his seat. There's a fine line of pale skin visible between the waistband of his pants and the hem of his shirt and-

"What are you watching?" Dave asks without looking at him as he starts to pedal.

"Oh, nothing." He says innocently and sucks his lips in to suppress a grin before returning to stare aimlessly at his screen, hoping for inspiration.

"Good. Wanna try fooling around with-"

"Why David," He smiles wide, cutting Dave off before he can finish what he's sure is a perfectly harmless, floor-appropriate proposal. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

He's been doing so well. Twelve days, and he's been the absolute epitome of self control.

Yeah, so he jerks off once - sometimes twice - a night in his pod, wondering if Kurt's doing the same, but that's ok, right? That's not costing any credits or breaking any rules. And he's pretty sure Kurt's been doing the same; he's desperately wanted to  _ask_  him if he's been doing it too, but there's no way to start that conversation and have it end without some kind of rule – whether their own or the Guard's – ending up broken.

Dave can't deny he's been revelling in the knowledge that Kurt  _wants_  him as much has he wants him right back. Kurt's looks can be deceiving; there's a fire in him that contradicts the cool, composed exterior that most people see. But Dave's seen that fire, he's  _felt_  it - increasingly so over the last two days – so he's been playing it cool in order that he doesn't end up completely consumed by it.

At least he thinks he's been playing it cool. That's definitely what he's been going for, but today had proved especially  _hard_  – pun most definitely intended.

He's lying in bed, half-watching a Pro-Virtua game he already knows the outcome of when he receives a goodnight kiss from Kurt with the message:  _ **Goodnight David. Dream of me...?**_

He feels a liquid heat course through his body, pooling in his groin, just at the sight of Kurt's Counter, the sweet but ever-so-slightly suggestive message. He already jerked off in the shower when he got back to his pod after Kurt's audacious flirting all day, but when another suspiciously well-timed ad for  _Puck's Play_  interrupts his reverie and leaves the tagline -  _"What else are you gonna do with that hand?"_  – lingering in his mind he gives in. For the sake of thirty-thousand credits, fuck their self-imposed rule. Right now, he's amazed he lasted twelve  _hours_  never mind twelve days.

He grabs his buds and shoves them roughly into his ears before hitting the now permanent fixture of Kurt's icon on his dash and selecting live call. The alert tone chimes four – five times and he almost disconnects when Kurt finally answers.

" _Oh, hello,"_  he says with an affected airy tone.

"Hi," Dave says, biting back a giddy smile. His heart's already pounding in his chest and his palms feel hot and clammy, like he's nervous. Suddenly he realises he  _is_  nervous. Fuck. When they did this before it was more...organic. This time, with so much build up, what if-

" _Can I_ help  _you with something?"_  Kurt interrupts his train of thought.

"Mmm, I hope so." Dave eyes his Counter. It looks absurdly good to his hungry eyes, fully dressed in the Counter Couture outfit Kurt had been so proud of winning in a game of Trivia Trap a few days ago. Its broad smile turns into a yawn.

" _I don't know, I was just about to go to sleep..."_

"Oh yeah? Early night?" He asks, doubtful.

" _I was kind of expecting a big day tomorrow, so..."_

"How 'bout we make it a big night tonight instead?" Dave's eyes scrunch and he almost winces at his own words.

" _I don't know,"_  Kurt pauses and Dave imagines him biting on a plush, pink lip and fluttering his eyelashes.  _"I need my beauty sleep, and my boyfriend's kind of a stickler for routine."_

Dave feels a little electric tingle run through his chest at the word  _boyfriend_. "Hmm, okay. First, your  _boyfriend_  sounds like an idiot and, second, you don't need beauty sleep."

He giggles and the rich, warm sound reverberates in Dave's ears. " _No?"_

"No way," he says, and makes his Counter shake its head and give Kurt a flirty wink.

" _You old sweet-talker."_

"You love it."

Kurt takes a second to answer and Dave almost,  _almost_ , starts to worry about his choice of words when Kurt's Counter blows a kiss his way and he sighs softly before replying,  _"Hmm,_   _I do."_

Dave feels his heart clench and his cock spring fully to life. "So..." he says, drawing the word out and letting it linger between them, putting the ball in Kurt's court. They're used to exchanging flirty innuendos, and they definitely helped each other get off the last couple of times they spoke like this but there was nothing overt during those conversations; just  _sounds_  and muttered affirmations. This time, he wants more than that – he knows they both do - but it feels suddenly silly to  _ask_  for it. What if he just sounds cheesy and clueless? What if he says something that makes him sound stupid, or worse, like some kind of depraved –

" _So,"_  Kurt once again saves him from his own cerebral hysterics,  _"why don't you tell me what you'd do if you were here?"_

* * *

Kurt feels a flush of tingling heat surge upwards through his body and, he realises, he's  _trembling_  all over. He scrunches his eyes closed and tries to regain some semblance of control. He really had been about to go to sleep, filled with giddy anticipation for what was to come but,  _fuck_ , having it come so quickly was almost enough in itself to send him over the edge. And he really would rather it lasted just a little longer than this.

" _Are you in bed?"_ Dave asks.

Kurt breathes in then exhales, long and slow, before answering. "Yes."

" _Would you let me climb in beside you?"_

An impromptu huff of laughter escapes his lips. "I'd pull you down on top of me."

Dave emits a delicious little 'mmf' sound before asking,  _"Are you naked in there?"_

"Not yet. Boxers...you?"

"'m naked."

"Oh," Kurt says thickly and closes his eyes again, trying to control himself even as his hand drifts under the waistband of his shorts and tugs the soft fabric aside to grip his cock before he's even made the conscious decision to do it. He pictures Dave, spread out on his bed, naked under the dim purple light, broad and firm and ...And as the sensation floods his system, he thinks, fuck it, he can let himself let go; now's the only time he  _doesn't_  have to worry about control.

" _Are you okay?_ " Dave asks, sounding sheepish.

"Sorry, just...picturing."

" _Yeah?"_

"Hmm-hmm. You're," he pauses, feeling a little self conscious but shoving that part of himself away, "you're pretty hairy, right?"

" _Um, yeah...is that,"_  his breath hitches, " _is that okay?"_

"Fuck, yes. Can I...I want to touch it. Your chest..." Kurt's watching Dave's Counter through lidded eyes, taking in the broad-chested simulation, his hand still inside his boxers, moving lightly - almost  _too_  lightly - over the shaft of his cock. He feels that boldness again and embraces it. "If you were here, I'd...I'd put my hands all over your chest, pinch your nipples..."

There's a low, rumbling sound from the buds in Kurt's ears that gives him goosebumps.

"Do it  _for_  me, David. Tell me how it feels."

* * *

"Uh, it feels good, really good..." Dave swallows and stills his right hand on his dick while his left hand rubs up his belly and over his chest, allowing his thumb to graze a nipple on its path.

" _Describe it to me...your big, hairy chest...tell me what it feels like..."_

"...it's kind of...fuzzy."

" _Fuzzy?"_  Kurt muses with a breathy smile in his voice.  _"Hmm. Is it soft and silky or...?"_

"It's pretty soft," He replies, biting at his lip as he smiles through his awkwardness, trying to focus on the feeling of the hair against his palm. He rubs gentle circles on his chest and feels his hand start to tingle with the sensation. "My nipples are hard, though, and so is my..."

" _Now,"_  he commands around a gasp for air, " _move your hand lower. Tell me how your cock feels."_

Dave does as he's told. Kurt asking him,  _telling_  him, what to do is another surprise and the single sexiest thing he's ever experienced.

"It's hard," He has to choke back a moan as he feels his own sticky-wet precome leaking down and over his shaft, "so hard and getting wet," he lets the moan out this time as he squeezes his length while rubbing his thumb lightly over the pooled moisture on the head, "so fucking hard for you, Kurt."

" _Oh god,"_  he yelps in response, broken, stammered breaths followed by, " _me too...I wish I was there, I wish I could touch you. I want to feel you rub up against me-"_  he stutters out a breath,  _"-stroke it for me, i-imagine it's my hand."_

"Fuck, I always do."

" _Really?"_

"Hmm. Do you?"

" _Every day."_

He can hear Kurt's breathing become panting, and he imagines how he must look right now, pale skin flushed pink all over, lips wet and parted, and he imagines pressing him against the mattress, feeling long legs wrap around him as their cocks slide together. Dave tightens his grip on his now slippery cock, pumping faster, enjoying the slide of the just-right friction and the image in his mind. "Every day?"

" _Sometimes,"_  a moan escapes that leaves little to the imagination,  _"sometimes twice."_

"Imagine it's me now, stroking you" Dave pants, emboldened by Kurt's admission, "rubbing my cock against yours, squeezing your ass..."

" _Oh god yes,"_  he yelps in response, broken, stammered breaths followed by _"...fuck, fuck, too close..."_

* * *

"Fuckingdamnitdavid..."

When Kurt comes, it's too soon; before he knows what's happening, his balls are drawn up tight into his body and every muscle, every nerve, in his body tightens,  _sings_ , and he finds his release amidst curse words and the mental image of Dave rutting naked and hard against him. If he wasn't floating above his body on a little cloud of boneless bliss, he might even feel  _angry_  that he didn't last longer, that he hadn't been able to hear and share more  _dirtyfilthysexy_  secrets with Dave and wait until they were both  _right there_. When he opens his eyes, his hand and his thighs are a sticky mess and Dave's still panting in his ears, punctuating his words with delicious little grunts.

" _Fuck, Kurt...was that...did you...?"_  He sounds like he's close, too.

"Sorry, you're too...I was..." He can't cajole his mouth to form coherent syllables. He pauses and listens to Dave for a few seconds, muttering incoherencies of his own. He knows his work here isn't over just yet. "I wish you were here," he whispers, "I made such a mess..."

" _You did?"_

He feels himself nodding, as if Dave can see him, "Yeah."

" _I wish I was...mmf...I wish I could taste you."_

"You do?" Kurt arches his back a little and feels a satisfying ache in his balls.

" _I bet you taste so good, Kurt..."_

"Want me to tell you?"

" _You'd...fuck, you mean...?"_

"Hmm, anything you want..."

" _Fuck..."_

Kurt licks a drop of cooling come from his index finger – it feels heavy on his tongue and tastes better than he expected; a bitter-salty-creamy tang that's not at all unpleasant. He moans around his finger and says, "You're right, I do taste good."

" _Oh, sofuckinghotKurtgonna..."_

"Come for me, David." And he does, with the same gorgeous, guttural groan as before and though Kurt's limbs feel limp and heavy, his cock start to stiffen again, springing to life with a little jerk on his thigh.

Kurt stays quiet as Dave's breath evens out, quietens. It's a soothing sound and he feels himself start to drift to sleep when Dave speaks.

" _I wish I could kiss you goodnight."_

"Hmm, me too." He replies sleepily. "Just come over next time, 'kay? You can spend the night."

Dave lets out a pained laugh.  _"I wish."_

"Me too. Thanks for calling tonight."

" _Even though it was a little...premature?"_

Kurt chuckles as he stretched out his legs and shucks off his boxers, using them to wipe the drying come from his thighs. "I think I was a little premature myself tonight."

" _You were...perfect."_

"Thanks. I'll try to last longer tomorrow."

" _Tomorrow?"_

"When I hit five-hundred thousand, we'll do  _this_  again, right? Those are the rules, remember?" He grins and bites his bottom lip. He's pushing, he knows, but it seems he has no shame when it comes to David Karofsky.

" _You're terrible, Hummel."_ Dave accuses, but there's fondness in his voice and he knows they'll talk like this again tomorrow night.

"Shut up, you love it." He says, mimicking their earlier exchange.

" _I-I love_ you _."_  He says with an endearingly nervous laugh.

Kurt feels his heart flutter and his mouth go dry. Suddenly, the difference between  _feeling_  it and  _hearing_  it is huge. And saying it-

" _I'm...just ignore me, okay? I'm just..." Dave mutters, trying and failing to sound nonchalant._

"I love you too." Kurt says to silence him and, wow, after at  _least_  twelve days of feeling it, knowing it for sure, it turns out that saying it was pretty easy after all. And this was  _definitely_  worth waiting for.


	13. Chapter 13

" _#Yeah you...got that something...I think you'll understand...#"_

Dave feels a smile creep onto his lips as he eyes Kurt, singing quietly to himself, as they walk towards the refectory. They're walking closer than has become normal, allowing themselves to linger a little in the quiet corridor after keeping a painfully safe distance on the floor all morning. Today is, officially, the day of their first  _milestone,_ though the real occasion had come last night when Dave, riding his post orgasmic high, had impulsively told Kurt that he loved him.

Actually, no; the real milestone, the  _real_  event - that managed to eclipse even Kurt cursing his name and  _coming_  just for him - had been when, by some sublime twist of fate, Kurt had said he loved him back.

Dave had felt his world shrink in that moment, small as it already was, to just  _Kurt_  and him and that feeling, and he went to sleep happy; sticky and shaky and satisfied. When he woke up this morning he found his world had once again expanded, filled up with possibilities, most of which left him shit-scared. Jagged butterflies flailed in his stomach and his mind was infested with  _What Ifs_. What if Kurt hadn't really meant it? Had said it back only as a reflex; no more than a sex-addled, endorphin-fuelled reaction? Or worse, what if he's said it back out of  _pity_? Dave felt anxiety worry at him as he showered, as he shaved and dressed and as he walked towards the floor. Those three little words might have –  _will_  have - changed everything, and if it was for the worse? Well, he'd only have himself and his stupid out of control  _feelings_  to blame.

When he'd got to the floor this morning, though, and saw Kurt already mounted on his bike, pedalling energetically, a different kind of  _What If_  came to mind:  _fuck, what if he'd actually meant it?_  Kurt had turned towards him as he approached and slowed to a soft-pedal. He smiled shyly and Dave's butterflies fled and his mind cleared. Somehow, just the way Kurt said, "Good morning, David," was enough to let him  _know_ ; enough to answer his unvoiced questions. And as Dave returned his shy smile, climbed on his bike and set his feet in motion, he was glad - relieved, excited, ec- _fucking_ -static - that even though everything had changed, things were somehow still the same between them.

It was Kurt who suggested an early lunch; he was hungry, he said, he'd skipped breakfast. But while Dave didn't doubt Kurt's  _hunger_ , he knew that, really, he wanted to go now because the refectory would be quiet. They'd spent the morning so far sharing furtive smiles and longing looks and they both needed a moment off the floor just to  _be_  together.

" _#When I...say that something...#"_

Dave continues to watch Kurt from the corner of his eye as his lips move and he sways softly with each step towards their destination. He recognises the song; it's the same one Kurt almost always sings. Dave isn't sure that he's even aware he does it, so he's never wanted to ask about the song before, he doesn't want to make him self-conscious about such an endearing habit. He loves to hear Kurt sing - not that he's had the chance to  _really_  hear him yet – and relishes the far-away look he gets in his eyes, how he bows his lips and tilts his head ever-so-slightly to the side. Dave likes how he hums softly as he mounts his bike some mornings, how he sings under his breath in the restroom and, although he knows it isn't quite the same, Dave  _especially_  likes the sing-song quality, the lyrical lilt, his voice takes on during their live-calls, when he's  _excited_.

Kurt stops singing when he catches Dave watching him, and Dave responds by elbowing him in good-natured protest. "What's that song?" He asks, no longer afraid of making Kurt self-conscious – he hopes that, after last night, there's nothing they can't share. "You sing it a lot."

"Oh, um, it's old." Kurt comes back to himself and smiles warmly at Dave, shrugging his shoulders. "My mom used to sing it. I like it, it's sweet."

"I like it, too. You should sing it for me...y'know, for real." Dave says, returning his smile.

"Yeah?" He asks, eyes shining unnaturally bright under the stark fluorescent light.

Dave nods, still smiling like a sap, and Kurt edges closer to him, lifting his voice a little. " _#Now please say to me you'll let me be your man...and please say to me you'll let hold your hand...#"_ The backs of their fingertips brush just before they reach the entrance to the refectory and Dave feels an irrational blush spread across his cheeks.

When they buy their food from the vendors, they sit safely facing one another, in a middle table, devoid of any neighbors.

"What  _is_  that?" Kurt asks with a disapproving look as Dave unwraps his Double Deli Delight from its packaging.

"It's just a sandwich." He defends affably. "Don't judge me, Hummel; it's just little once-every-five-hundred-thousand-credits  _indulgence_."

"Well, as long as it's just every once in a while, I wholeheartedly approve." Kurt's smiling impishly as he speaks and it dimples his cheeks in the most adorable way. "You couldn't afford to indulge every day,  _obviously_ , but when you reach certain milestones,  _certain_  special occasions, then you should, absolutely, indulge. A little of what you fancy..."

"Shut up," Dave grumbles, and knees him softly under the table as he takes a bite of the sub that's suddenly become a metaphor for his love-life. "Before you got here, these sandwiches were all I had to look forward to."

He gives Dave a serious look for a moment before speaking. "That's a little..."

Dave nods, pulling his lips into an exaggerated frown. "Sad, but true."

Kurt giggles and carefully peels the wrapper from his Wonderbar, chewing thoughtfully as they fall into an easy silence.

"I kind of wish we'd met before," Kurt says eventually, without looking at Dave, eyes fixed on the paper wrapper he's carefully unravelling. "At school, or..." He shakes his head and looks wistfully upwards before continuing. "I just hate the idea of us both being so sad and lonely when we could've been...together. Like this."

"I don't know." Dave says softly and keeps his eyes on Kurt's hands, "It would only have made it harder to leave, to come here..."

"We might have ended up on the same floor." Kurt cuts him off with a hopeful half-smile.

"That almost never happens." Dave says, and watches Kurt's smile fade. He feels his brow knot in frustration. He doesn't mean it like it sounds, it's just...he doesn't think he was ready for this before. He likes what they have now; he likes  _having_  it now. He moves his legs under the table, adjusting his position so that one of his knees can slide  _almost_  between both of Kurt's. He smiles when Kurt looks up at him expectantly and tries to reroute their conversation. "And besides, you wouldn't even have liked me back then."

"I don't believe that."

"I was..." He laughs, because, really, when he looks back sometimes it's like he's looking back at someone else. "Honestly? I was kind of a dick."

They've touched on it before. Kurt already knows that, as a kid, Dave had felt miscast in his own life.

"Well," he smiles, "people change."

"Yeah, they do," he replies, because he  _has_  changed. He's changed a lot since being that scared and angry boy, caught between what he knew he was and what he thought he wanted. He feels his smile start to return. He's made peace with his past, mostly; with his Mom and his Dad and his younger self. With  _who_  he is and  _what_  he wants. "I would've liked  _you_ , though," His eyes flick up and away and he feels himself blush at the thought of how much trouble someone like Kurt might've caused him back then. He chuckles. "Like,  _whoa_."

"Hmm, I'm not so sure." He shoots Dave an errant smile before returning his attention to the Wonderbar wrapper he was in the middle of decimating. "I was shorter, and I had a chubby phase, and—"

"Trust me, I would've  _liked_  you anyway."

"—and I could be super-bossy, and kind of a brat—"

"No, I do not believe that  _at all_ ," Dave cuts it, voice laced with sarcasm.

"I know, right? Doesn't sound like me in the slightest." Kurt giggles and waves his hand dismissively. "But school was a different world altogether."

Dave feels a contented smile play on his lips. "I'm pretty sure I'd like you in any world."

Kurt looks up at him through dark lashes. "You'd... _like_  me?" He asks with apprehension.

 _Oh_ , Dave thinks,  _so we are going to mention that_. He feigns indifference with a little shrug but can't suppress a smile. "Maybe I'd more than  _like_  you."

* * *

"Hey," Kurt begins, and finishes creasing and shaping the paper that one contained his lunch. Kurt just wants to enjoy it;  _this_. Sitting in the refectory with his boyfriend, being  _loved_. Oh, of course he's been loved before. He always knew his Dad loved him – he never had any doubts on that front, thankfully - but this is something different altogether. David Karofsky has no obligation to love him; he wasn't duty-bound to say those words last night. But he did, and he  _does_  - and he  _said it first –_ and it's something entirely new and wondrous, this warm, giddy, wanted feeling and he wants to revel in it. He lets his calf brush against Dave's under the table as he holds the freshly formed figure between his thumb and forefinger, "I made you a happy-milestone gift."

"Thank you," Dave smiles and accepts it readily.

Kurt leans in and stage whispers, "It's a  _sexy_  penguin."

"Oh, I know that." Dave smiles, and admires it for a moment before placing it gently on the table beside his temporarily discarded buds. "Thank you. But I don't have anything for you."

Kurt pouts. "I don't know about that..."

"Oh, you mean you want a bite of my sandwich?" Dave offers with a grin, holding it out towards him.

"No, I'll pass on  _that_. But thanks."

Dave looks to the empty tables at either side of them and gets that roguish expression on his face that Kurt loves to see. He takes a small bite of the sandwich and seems to savor it a little too enthusiastically. "But it  _tastes_  so good," he says, licking his lips, "don't you wanna  _taste it_?"

Kurt feels the heat of the blush spreading swiftly up his neck as it brings back the intended memories of their conversation – of his own lascivious actions – from the night before. He lets his eyes flutter to a close. "David," he scolds, unable to stop his lips from curling upwards into a traitorous smile. He reopens his eyes to look straight at him. "That's not fair."

"Sorry." He replies, not looking even slightly apologetic. "Seriously, though, take a bite. It's good."

It's some kind of pricey cheese and rehydrated meat combo. Kurt's normally careful about what he eats, genetically predisposed as he is both to chubbiness and heart disease, but as he eyes the fruit bag that constitutes the remainder of his lunch, he rationalises the  _indulgence_ ; it does look good, and he  _is_  doing almost nothing but pedalling these days. And it's only one little bite. And - who is he trying to kid? - the idea of eating something right out of Dave's hand is just too tempting to resist.

"Alright," he says and leans forward, bracing a hand on the table, and he can't stop himself from stressing the word, "let me  _taste_  it."

He thrills at the sight of Dave's Adam's apple bobbing as he gulps and tugs down the wrapper covering the lower half of the bread. He leans in, too, and holds the sandwich up to Kurt's lips with what looks like a slightly trembling hand.

Right at this moment, Kurt isn't aware of anything but the sandwich in front of his face and the enticingly handsome boy holding it. He knows there are people at the table behind them, and the disinterested girl in the yellow jumpsuit's been right in his line of vision since they sat down, but as he looks into Dave's hazel eyes - which, he notes and files for later, are dark, almost all-pupil, when he's like  _this –_ it all disappears _._ He reaches his hand forward to wrap around Dave's wrist, bracing a thumb on the edge of his palm to hold his hand steady as he bites into the sandwich without averting his gaze. As he pulls back, chewing slowly, he lets his thumb rub softly - once, twice – down and against Dave's pulse-point before dropping his hand back onto the table.

"Mmm, 's good," he says and Dave's mouth hangs slightly agape, his eyes trained on Kurt's lips as he swallows the remainder of the bite. He's a little amazed that no alarms are sounding; that definitely felt like an inappropriate activity.

Dave rests the sandwich back on the table and motions wordlessly towards Kurt's mouth, bringing a thumb to his own bottom lip.

"What?"

"You have a little..." Dave's voice is thick with...well; let's just say Kurt's heard him sound like that before, just not in person.

"Oh," He realizes what Dave means and feels his face flush anew as he reaches a hand up towards his mouth.

Dave nods and, just like that, reaches a hand to Kurt's face, almost-but-not-quite cupping his jaw and pressing a thumb into the crease at the corner of his lips. Kurt wants to lean into that touch, to dart his tongue out and  _taste_ , but it's gone as quickly as it came. Dave shifts in his seat a little and says, with a sly smile, "See?" before licking the small dot of sauce – something like mayonnaise but a little spicy, and orange in color – from the pad of his thumb in a way that manages to look both harmless and utterly obscene.

Kurt's cock is agonizingly hard against the suddenly tight cloth of his pants. He realises when he starts to feel dizzy that he's holding his breath and, as he remembers to breathe again, it comes out in a choked sob of laughter. "I hate you, Karofsky."

Dave looks at him for a long moment with that same sly smile and a wild glint in his eye before replying, "No you don't."

"No," Kurt says with a sigh and an eye-roll as he tries to subtly re-adjust the angle of his erection, "I don't  _at all_."

* * *

"Go, go!" Kurt urges him to go on ahead with a little giggle. "I need a...minute. Under the cool–jet."

"Okay, if you're sure..." Dave replies, edging towards the door of the restroom.

"Go!"

Dave goes, because, if he doesn't, he really can't be held responsible for what might happen. It's torture, having Kurt so close but still not  _having_  him, but if it's this kind of torture or nothing at all, he thinks he'll happily suffer every day for the rest of his life.

He wanders back to the floor on his own, already missing the presence of Kurt by his side. As he attempts to get comfortable on his saddle, he places the little paper penguin – his gift – between the handlebars of his bike and loads his music stream, searching for that song, Kurt's song, before pushing a foot down to start pedalling.

A presence more than a motion catches his eyes after a minute, and he stops his search and turns with a smile to see a familiar face, just not the one he's been expected.

His smile slides. "Az, hey."

"I, uh, heard about what happened," he says and looks up at Dave without actually looking at him, his eyes landing on anything but Dave's own.

"C'mon, man. I'm not getting into this with you again." Dave looks back at his screen with an agitated huff and feels his feet push harder at his pedals.

"No, I...I wanted to apologize." Dave looks back at him, and he clutches the garbage sack in his hand tightly by the thin stringy handle and looks down at his feet. "I was out of line."

"You kinda were."

"I know," Azimio finally lifts his eyes towards Dave's, "and I got into trouble for it."

"Yeah?"

"Where d'you think I've been?"

Dave shrugs. He hadn't given it much thought, in all honesty. Too busy being besotted by Az's replacement. "I thought maybe you were just laying low."

"In this fluorescent piece of shit?" He laughs a little, tentative still. "They put me on pod duty, for getting all up in your business. It wasn't my place anyway, but especially not now, I guess."

Dave isn't sure how to reply to that. He nods his head noncommittally.

"Man, I thought I was a pig, but people do nasty ass shit when they're alone in there."

Dave smiles back at him, thinking of the nasty ass shit he's been does in the privacy of his own pod lately. Az seems to catch the look in his eyes.

"Just, and I swear this is the last I'll say a word, man, but be careful." He takes a little step closer to Dave's bike, fingers clutching the edge of a handlebar. "I just...I guess I can't help but see a Brittany and Santana scenario happening all over again when I look at you two and-"

"Brittany?" Dave asks, momentarily too puzzled to tell Az to fuck off.

"Brittany.  _S Pierce_? The ex-porno queen?" He smiles but there's no malice in it. "Guess maybe you wouldn't know  _that_."

Dave nods and feels a little defensive. "I know who she is."

"Well, yeah. She started out here. With Santana. They knew each other already, from before, so...I don't know, they were pretty tight. And it was kinda hot, y'know? Watching them make those sexy eyes at each other..."

Dave feels his cheeks pink at the idea of people watching him and Kurt making  _sexy eyes_  at each other.

"...but when she left,  _how_  she left...man, it broke Santana. I swear, she was a sweet girl when I got here."

"I didn't know." Dave didn't know  _what_  Santana's deal was and, though he wasn't exactly sociable with anyone other than Kurt, he'd never heard anyone mention anything about this.

"Shit, the guys that were here when it happened know better than to mention it when she's around." Dave watches Az's eyes flit towards the entrance and then back. "Must be hard, y'know?"

Dave nods. He can't imagine how it feels...how she must feel every time...no, fuck that, he can imagine it, he just tries not to.

"Anyway, I'm sorry, but I only got crazy because I care or some shit." Az says with a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I better..."

Az takes a step back and reaches to grab the little paper figure from its new home.

"C'mon Az, leave it for now. Take it later, okay?"

"I'm in enough shit already. You know the rules. It's detritus."

"Yeah,  _detritus_. Whatever." Dave says sadly as Az drops the crumpled figure into the trash. That's one word for it.

He looks up the walkway past Dave and mutters, "See you around." Dave can tell by the look on his face and the speed with which he exits that Kurt must've hit the floor.

Before he turns to look, Dave feels fingertips ghost across the small of his back then Kurt's there, climbing aboard his bike, smiling that smile and it's easy not to think about the distant future it's hard to think about anything but what he wants  _now_.

"Hey," Kurt says brightly, though there's a slightly worried look on his face. "What'd I miss?"

"Nothing." Dave replies and lets a smile creep back onto his lips. "What did  _I_  miss?"


	14. Chapter 14

_**7,500,000** _

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They had a  _plan_.

They had a system, a routine; the plan was supposed to keep them in check, stop them from breaking the rules, from wanting or needing to. The plan was supposed to stop them from squandering too many credits, it was supposed to be more of a help than a hindrance; a pleasant distraction from the  _other_  routine that would aid them on their journey, marking milestone with little rewards for good behaviour as they went.

And, yeah, he knew he’d want more; he knew they both would, but he thought in the beginning, he’d really believed, that he’d just be so grateful to have something rather than nothing that it would somehow be enough.

But…

* * *

_**1,000,000** _

“ _Have you any idea how many times in an average day you lick your lips, or poke your tongue out while you’re thinking, or…”_

“Sorry.”

“ _You should be. It’s distracting.”_

“Distracting from what?”

“ _My…work.”_

“Your work?”

“ _I’m busy, David. I have things to do.”_

“Oh, am I keeping you from something right now?”

“ _Well, there is some rather urgent business I need to attend to, but it just so happens that that you could ably assist me with that.”_

“Oh yeah?”

“ _I think so.”_

“How?”

“ _How about you tell me what else you can do with that tongue.”_

* * *

_**1,500,000** _

“Eight sharp?”

“It’s a date.”

“Don’t be tardy. I’ll be waiting. Buds in, at the ready.” Kurt winks as he turns to leave the floor.

Dave watches his boyfriend sashaying down the walkway. The backward glance Kurt throws his way as he reaches the exit sends a thrill of anticipation through his body. They’re calling tonight their date night, because, well, it’s as close as they’ll get to a date in any kind of traditional sense. Kurt heads back to his pod early to get ready for the occasion –  _“I bought a new outfit for Counter-Kurt, you’ll love it.”_  - while Dave stays to round out his digits to the next ten thousand, so that he can spend five extra, guilt-free minutes on the live-call.

It all feels more romantic than it probably should, given that what they’re so looking forward to is listening to each other jerk off, but - what was that old saying that Kurt was so fond of? -  _When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade._  That seems to fit in their current predicament. Although, in this case, they were really only  _talking_  about making lemonade, but still. Dave feels the drippy smile spreading across his face and he doesn’t have the desire to dampen it.

“So, you’re live calling now?” Santana queries, concern more than reproach marked in her voice as she shakes him from his waking dream.

“Eavesdrop much?” He replies, unconcerned. He knows she must hear at least half of what they say to one another every day anyway. Words are pretty much all they have; by now he’s beyond caring what anyone thinks.

She tilts her head and purses her lips at him. “You penalty-chasing, too?”

Dave pops a bud out of his ear.  _Penalty-chasing?_  ”What?”

“Never mind.” She says, squeezing her eyes shut for a second. He thinks he heard her right, he’s pretty sure, but the buds muffle anything more than a foot or so away and the hum of background noise – whirring pedals and soft bouts of chatter – makes it hard to tell.

There’s a suggestion of a smile on her lips as she looks thoughtfully at him. “It’s kinda cute, y’know. Watching you two.”

Dave huffs out a breath and waits for the punchline.

“Sometimes.” She adds. “Even though it serves as a natural emetic.”

He looks as her, blank and bewildered, and asks after a beat, “Are you feeling okay?”

She starts to laugh. For once, there’s no malice in it. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Why do people keep telling me that?” He asks with a vexed huff.

She shrugs and swings her ponytail, turning back towards her screen. “Guess we’ve got enough broken hearts on this floor already,  _David_.”

* * *

_**2,360,776** _

“ _Hey.”_

“Hey, are you busy?”

“ _This is unexpected, but you know I’m never too busy for…”_

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Karofsky.”

“ _But that’s usually where you like it.”_

“What’re you doing?”

“ _Honestly? Sitting in my boxers playing some dumb shoot-the-loser game. Although, I can pretend to be doing something more sexy or interesting if you’d prefer. “_

“That won’t be necessary. Turn on the Dream Stream.”

“ _For Star Shot?”_

“Yeah.”

“ _Kurt, you know I can’t stand those judges, and how they…”_

“There’s someone in the audience you might recognise.”

“ _Seriously? This’ll drain some precious digits, but…”_

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“ _You better.”_

“I promise.”

“ _Okay, I’m in. Ouch, looks painful. Is he supposed to be dancing or…?”_

“Look! There! Behind Judge Sylvester.”

“ _I see you! Looking sexy for your main-stream debut…”_

“I know! A trial run for my future. Kind of.”

“ _Where_ _ **did**_ _you get those penguin PJs?”_

“Oh, just a gift from one of my many admirers. And I didn’t actually expect to get into the audience panel, or I can assure you, I would’ve dressed for the occasion.”

“ _Obviously.”_

“Still better that appearing on stream in this hideous grey leisurewear, though.”

“ _You look great in your leisurewear.”_

“Yeah, right.”

“ _Well, I’m pretty sure you’d look better_ _ **out**_ _of it…”_

“Stop that. Look! There I am again! I’m famous, David. I hope my Dad’s watching.”

“ _I can only imagine what you’ll be like when you get on there for real if this is how excited you get for your Counter.”_

“Don’t worry, it won’t change me. Well, being on there for real might, but this won’t. I’m still just one of the little people.”

“ _Little, huh?”_

“Well, maybe not so little where it counts…”

“ _Who’s mind’s in the gutter now?”_

“What? I meant, of course, that I have a big  **heart**.”

“ _Sure.”_

“I did.”

“ _Whatever you say, Hummel.”_

“Hmph. I’m going; I’ll let you get back to your game.”

“ _I’ve paid to watch this now. And I only like watching it with your commentary.”_

“You want me to stay?”

“ _Only if you want to.”_

“Of course I want to. But we’re not at our next milestone yet, does this replace that?”

“ _I think Counter-Kurt’s fifteen minutes of fame counts as a landmark occasion, don’t you?”_

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“ _Fame’s kind of an aphrodisiac, you know.”_

“So I’ve heard.”

“ _Hey, they’re judging. You can make like your little neighbour on the panel and pull faces behind Sylvester.”_

“My Counter does not pull faces. Unless…”

“ _Aw, is that for me?”_

“Who else would I be blowing kisses to? Now shush, Sylvester’s about to give Gene Kelly junior here a verbal spanking.”

“ _Maybe you can give me a verbal spanking…”_

“I suppose you do deserve to be punished for wasting credits like this, between milestones…”

“ _Kurt, you called me.”_

“Oops, so I did. Silly me.”

“ _So if anyone deserves a verbal spanking…”_

“I guess you’re right. I’m a bad boy.”

“ _You really are.”_

* * *

_**3,000,000** _

“ _Is this your idea of a date night movie now?”_

“You’ll like it, I promise.” Dave assures him and watches the vid begin to play. They’ve talked about doing this a few times, watching porn together, but despite his pledge to Kurt, he still feels nervous as hell. It’s not like they don’t both watch it anyway, right? And in lieu of actually  _doing_  things with each other, they talk about what they’d like to do, things they’ve  _seen_ , things they’ve enjoyed seeing, so why not enjoy seeing them together? Dave feels a flush of heat spread all the way up from his toes as the content of his movie-choice becomes more explicit. His voice comes out quiet, unsure. “It, uh…it made me think of what you told me, last time.”

“ _Last time?”_  Kurt asks.

“About…y’know,” he closes his eyes briefly against the images – both mental and visual – and compels his tongue to just  _work_ , damnit, “about bending over and…taking it.”

“ _Oh…”_

“Is that…I mean, we don’t have to—”

“ _No, I want to.” Kurt assured him, voice even. “Now hush, blondie’s saying something.”_

“Oh,” Dave smiles at that, the little admonishment he knows Kurt’s using just to put him at ease. “I’m sure it’s integral to the plot.”

“ _Context, David, is everything.”_

They fall into a charged silence as the scene plays out – a large dark-haired, olive skinned man dressed in a smart black suit chastises a young, blonde-haired, blue-eyed guy dressed in the same way.  _‘No one was supposed to find out’_ , he says, though Dave finds himself concentrating more on the little noises Kurt’s  _not_  making - the almost-indistinguishable sound of his breath, the echo of the sound from the vid through his buds - than the hacky dialogue on the screen. As the dark-haired man instructs the blond to  _‘bend over the desk and drop your pants’_  it’s the audible hitch in Kurt’s breath, more than the sight of blondie’s ass, that sends a little twinge of pleasure to his as-yet untouched cock.

“Tell me what you’re doing.” Dave asks more than commands, voice a bare murmur.

“ _I’m…”_  Kurt says slowly and, fuck, Dave has to reach for his dick at just the utterance of that one single, sultry, syllable.  _“…watching.”_

Blondie complies with other guy’s request, splays face-down over the desk with his ass in the air, and the big guy spreads large hands over pert cheeks. There’s back and forth chatter about doing better next time, about paying for his bad behaviour, and the dark-haired guy begins to spank lightly at blondie’s ass.

“ _Oh.”_  Kurt gasps, short and sharp.

Dave’s hand stills and he feels a little sting of trepidation. “Oh?”

“ _Oh my.”_  Kurt breathes in reassuring response and Dave resumes with small, stuttering strokes.

The big guy’s hand rests on blondie’s ass for a little longer each time, palm splaying; thumb stretching inwards towards his crack, pulling the reddened cheeks apart. Eventually, he yanks with both palms flat on the boy’s cheeks and rubs a thumb down the smooth crease of his ass, teasing, as the lens zooms in to reveal a thick thumb resting on the puckered hole. Dave stills his hand and grasps the base of his cock with firm pressure to keep himself from coming too soon, listening to Kurt’s breath grow steadily more shallow. They both watch as that thumb slowly works its way inside.

“Have you ever…?” He asks, tentatively, letting the question sit, still trying to gauge Kurt’s level of comfort. It’s hard to believe that there could be anything unmentionable between them, but for all their flirty talk of touching and tasting, they’ve still never talked about  _this_.

“ _To myself?”_  Kurt asks with a sexy, breathy rasp in his voice.

“Yeah.”

“ _Yes.”_  He says without hesitation, saying the word like he’s agreeing to something rather than confirming a fact, like he’s granting Dave assent for whatever might happen next.

Dave feels the maddening pulse in his cock resound through his whole body. “Will you…now?”

Kurt emits an obscene ‘ _uh-huh’_  sound of agreement _, “If you want me to.”_

“Fuck. Yes.” He manages to say, releasing his grip to jerk at his shaft again, this time with longer, firmer strokes.

The boy on screen arches his back, pushing his ass up and into the probing touch, forcing the bigger guy’s thumb in deeper with a theatrical moan that Kurt matches,  _betters_ , and Dave can picture just what he’s doing, so telling is the sound, and he arches his own back, shallow-thrusting into his fist at the slightly muffled, wet noise of Kurt sucking his finger – fingers – in preparation. “Ah—are you…?”

“ _Mmm, ‘m almost ready, David.”_

“Fuck, I wish…” Dave stammers then halts as Kurt gasps, loud and lewd, leaving Dave doubtless as to the reason behind it. He teases the moist head of his cock and feels that well-known pressure in his balls.

“ _I wish…I want…”_  Kurt grits out before his words give way to that familiar keening hum, high and unsteady and oh-so-fucking expressive. Dave knows he’s moaning aloud now too, eyes closed to concentrate on just  _this_ ; the sounds Kurt is making as he slides a spitty-wet finger into his ass, the mental image of him jerking wantonly at his cock. As the tension builds, his nerves sing in tune to their debauched chorus, his pulse quickens and he sees and  _feels_ little sparks of light behind his eyelids. Just as Dave’s right on the edge of his orgasm, Kurt rediscovers his voice and finishes his previous thought with  _“…fuck, David, want you to fuck me…”_ and Dave’s gone, lost to it like never before, as he moans in breathless accord. He hears Kurt come with an unabashed wail scarcely seconds later and, as he melts back into his pillow, there’s something satisfying in the fact that he  _knows_  that sound now, that it’s caused by him, meant for him. That Kurt is, as much as he can be, here and now,  _his_.

When he opens his eyes again - sensitive, softening cock still in a loose grip - dark-haired guy is pounding into blondie’s ass. Hard.

Dave feels a chuckle start to rumble in chest and Kurt mirrors it with a spent titter.

“You had enough?” He asks, voice still ragged.

Kurt heaves a sated sigh.  _“Enough of the vid, maybe.”_

“Just the vid, huh?”

“ _Yep.”_

“Good.” Dave says and feels a smile settle on his lips, silence descending as he stops the vid from playing and his breath levels out.

“ _David,”_ Kurt says gingerly after a minute of comfortable calm, _”have_ you  _ever…y’know?”_

The question makes Dave feels oddly self-conscious. He feels renewed warmth in his cheeks as he wipes his dirty hand off on his discarded shorts. “Maybe,” he finds himself answering.

“ _Would you…”_ And, yeah, that little hitch in Kurt’s breath will get him every time _”…for me?”_

“Kurt, I’d do anything for you.”

“ _Hmm, anything?”_ Hepurrs playfully, seductively. _”Come over here and finish what we just started.”_

Dave sighs in resignation. “You  _know_  I wish I could.”

 _“Screw the system. We should just…”_ Kurt trails off with a little huff of breath.

Dave snorts. “Y’know, Santana accused us of that a while ago.”

“ _What?”_

“Penalty chasing.”

Kurt’s voice creeps back up to normal pitch _. “You mean, people…really? That’s a thing?”_

Dave had looked it up after hearing Santana use the words, and it was definitely a  _thing_ , just a thing that wasn’t much talked about. “Apparently.”

“ _Why did she think that?”_

“I guess we’re kind of—”

“ _Wait. It’s the eye-fucking, isn’t it?”_ Kurt says with mock solemnity.

Dave chuckles. “Yeah, must be.”

“ _How would that even work?”_ He asks.

“I don’t know.” Dave absently shrugs his shoulders and shifts lower on his bed, noting the seriousness in Kurt’s enquiry. “Why, you getting ideas?”

He laughs _. “I just…have a healthy curiosity about these things. When they involve me. And you.”_

“I knew you were a bad influence, Hummel.” Dave growls at him.

“ _I know. I’m sorry,”_ he says, sounding not-at-all sorry in the slightest _,_ and affects the same cheesy tone as was used in the vid they just watched _, “maybe I need to…_ pay  _for my_ bad behavior _.”_ His Counter bats its eyelashes over huge blue-green eyes, a conflicting picture of innocence.

Dave feels a pang of longing shoot through his chest and swallows hard before speaking. “Maybe you do.”

Kurt giggles, loud, and it rattles Dave’s eardrums in a not-entirely-unpleasant way. _”Let’s see what happens at the end of the movie, shall we?”_

* * *

_**4,000,000** _

They walk quietly and quickly down the dark, deserted corridor. Kurt’s pretty sure everyone else who lives here is on his shift pattern so - someone else’s personal attempt at personal disgrace notwithstanding - they won’t be disturbed.

Kurt stops when he reaches the door to his pod:  _2705_. They stand facing one another, surrounded by dim light and deafening silence.

“So, this is where the magic happens.” Dave says and shifts his stance so he’s leaning against the black, shiny wall beside Kurt’s door. There’s a smile on his lips but fear in his eyes.

“This is where the magic is  _about_  to happen.” Kurt says with a small smile and takes a tentative step closer.

Dave stands up straight again, edging forward just slightly. “Are you sure you want to…?”

Kurt feels himself blink excessively as he nods in earnest. His voice comes out a whisper. “Are you?”

Dave nods back at him and shuffles closer still, smiling now. “I hope you remembered to brush your teeth this morning.”

“I’ll have you know,” he pauses for breath as he reaches out a hand to rest on Dave’s chest and feels  _something_  coil in his belly, “that I am minty fresh.”

“I’ll bet you are.” Days says in response, the sound barely a murmur as he dips his head to even their height, placing a warm hand on top of Kurt’s in the middle of his chest and, when Dave parts his lips and darts out a pink tongue to wet them, that’s when it happens.

It’s almost nothing like the first time.  _Almost_ , because it’s still him and David; still warm and wet and wanton. Kurt grips an eager handful of Dave’s shirt, urging him closer, and Dave’s hand reaches to cup Kurt’s jaw, just like before, but this time it’s all softer and slower. This time, every move is deliberate, significant.

This time, he tugs at the tangle of Dave’s hair that’s suddenly caught in his previously free hand and lets his teeth scrape against the flesh of Dave’s bottom lip before soothing the same tender tissue with his tongue. This time, Dave’s tongue slips into his hungry mouth and Kurt hears himself moan around it, feels the rumbling sound Dave emits when their tongues touch, each running tentative circles around the other, before it’s back to  _lips_  and  _teeth_  and bruising pressure.

This time, he makes the most of every moment by pressing the length of his torso against Dave’s, eliciting an immodest growl of assent as he shoves his pliant body back against the wall, revelling in the heat of his skin, the bulk of his frame, as they touch chest-to-chest through infuriating layers of clothing.

And this time, as they pull reluctantly apart it’s because they need air - because they’ve forgotten to breath, too busy inhaling each other -  _not_  because of the alarm sounding around them, not the flash of red screens and the electronic chant of  _ ***Inappropriate Activity*.**_ This time, thatdoesn’t come as a surprise at all. In the scheme of things, it barely registers.

As Dave - flushed pink, pupils blown - backs slowly, begrudgingly away, he laughs in giddy disbelief, and Kurt echoes the sound gladly.

“You okay?” Dave asks between heavy breaths, running a hand back through mussed hair.

Kurt nods and licks his still-tingling, smiling lips. He leans back against his door, feeling unsteady on suddenly shaky legs.

Dave’s feet keep moving even as he refuses to turn away. “See you later?”

Kurt nods again, and mouths, knowing he won’t be heard over the sounding alarm, “I hope so.”

* * *

_**3,500,000** _

_**BREACH NOTICE** _

_**From: The Guard** _

_**To: Kurt Hummel (participant), David Karofsky (participant)** _

_**Breach of Rule 2.12* - Inappropriate Activity: Sexual Touching.** _

_**Penalty Level 2 – 500,000 credits (active)** _

_**(*2.12 -No mutual sexual activity is permitted, including but not limited to: kissing, prolonged hugging, licking, sucking, body-to-body rubbing, massage, mutual masturbation, nudity for the purpose of sexual exhibitionism or voyeurism, penetration (vaginal, anal or oral). The use of pornography as entertainment is permissible, as is the discussion of sexual topics between individuals. Masturbation is encouraged but permitted only in the privacy of an individual’s pod.)** _

Dave stays standing on still-trembling legs, back against the wall, as he opens the message and starts the stream notification. The same Counter as before appears and he watches as she relays almost the same message as last time.

_***”Hi. I’m Guard Officer Duplice and I’m here to tell you more about the notice you’ve received. You and another party were observed to participate in a breach of Rule 2.12 – see your notice for further clarification of the rule – at 16:22 today on Sub-Floor 23C, Zone 216. In order to maximise your time here on the floor, it’s important that you abide by the rules…”** _

Dave closes his eyes, feeling something like relief wash over him, and let’s himself slide to the floor.  _ ***View Obstructed***_ He hears the warning and can see the burn of the red screens through his eyelids _ **. *Resume Viewing***_ He brings his hand up to his face and shields his eyes with his palm as he rubs a thumb and forefinger over his furrowed brows.  _ ***View Obstructed***_ His heart is still pounding in his chest so he gives himself a minute to calm down before opening blurry eyes and watching the rest.  _ ***Resume Viewing***_

_***”We’re disappointed that this is your second Level 1 breach. As a repeat offender, you have incurred the heightened penalty of 500,000 credits. These credits have already been deducted from your current total.** _

_**We advise against committing further breaches. Should further breaches be observed, the appropriate penalties will apply. Remember, repeat offenders and multiple breaches incur higher penalties. The Guard reserves the right to, at any time, redeploy participants to an alternative bike, floor, or zone, as appropriate. Should you wish to appeal this decision, hit the ‘Appeal’ icon at the end of this message and a Guard officer will visit you in due course.** _

_**We hope, this time, you’ve learned your lesson. Goodbye.”*** _

As the message ends with a smile from Officer Duplice, Dave realises he’s smiling, too.

* * *

_**3,478,721** _

“ _Santana was clocking my digits today, I saw her. I think she knows.”_

“Well, it’s not as if either of us ended up in the red, so unless she’s hacking your messages in her spare time or has friends in high places, it’s all conjecture.”

“ _I guess?”_

“Are you…worried?”

“ _No, don’t be crazy.”_

“No regrets?”

“ _No way.”_

“Good. Me neither.”

“ _You sure?”_

“Absolutely positive.”

“ _Even though those credits could’ve got you…”_

“Worth. Every. Credit.”

“ _Good.”_

“I don’t care if Santana knows anyway, she knows about everything else we do. And it was kind of her idea.”

“ _I should thank her, then.”_

“I still can’t believe it was so…”

“ _So good?”_

“Hmm, that too. But just so easy. I mean, I guess we knew what to expect after last time, but…”

“ _The penalties get steeper, you know.”_

“I know, I wasn’t suggesting that we—”

“— _next time, it could be—”_

“Next time?”

“ _You don’t think there should be a next time?”_

“Oh, I know there shouldn’t be. But I think there will be.”

“ _There doesn’t have to be. I don’t want…not if you don’t want to do it again.”_

“David.”

“ _Yeah?”_

“I want to.”

* * *

_**4,000,000** _

Kurt’s minding his own business, walking to the restroom on his own when the familiar voice calls out from behind him.

“Hey.”

He ignores it and carries on walking down the corridor. He doesn’t want to know why he’s following him. It’s been a nice, normal day and he’s happy for it to stay that way, thank you very much.

“Hey, Hummel.”

“I don’t have anything, okay?” He snaps and turns on his heel, facing a startled looking Azimio. He holds up his empty hands. “No detritus, no debris, no paper penguins up my sleeve.” He’s sick of this. From the moment he spotted that paper penguin, it seemed like Azimio was always watching, waiting to pounce on anything that wasn’t floor-functional, anything that might have meaning beyond mere  _usefulness_. And Kurt new it was stupid and trivial, but he hated that Az seemed so ready to destroy the one real thing they had, a token of something between them that wasn’t simply there to be consumed and thrown away. After seeing his efforts crushed for the third, no— fourth, time, he gave up on his little gifts to Dave. There were v-gifts, of course, but they were just a different kind of disposable. “I’m not hiding anything, okay?”

Az snorts and gives him an appraising look. “I don’t know about that.”

Kurt drops his hands in exasperation. “What is your problem?”

He motions with both hands to the yellow jumpsuit he’s wearing. “You really have to ask?”

“You don’t know me. You barely know Dave and yet—”

“And yet I know a thing or two about what it’s like to be here, to fuck it all up, to get busted and stuck and—”

Kurt looks at him in disbelief. “None of that is my fault, Azimio!”

“I know that.” He has the decency to agree, dropping his gaze temporarily to the floor.

“Then why do you…treat me like I just drained your digits?”

“I don’t know, man.” He shrugs and looks Kurt in the eye for what feels like the first time. “You took my spot, y’know? You have the chance that I wasted.”

Kurt looks back at him, unblinking and unsatisfied, waiting for more.

Az takes a step forward and lowers his voice. “I only do that shit because I have to, right? It’s my job.”

Kurt barks out a sour laugh. “Well, I’m glad to see you approach your work with such tenacity.”

“I guess I’m sorry. But I get it, y’know?”

Kurt folds his arms across his chest and keeps the bite in his voice. “You  _get_  it?”

Az nods and there’s something resembling sincerity in his dark eyes. “I know what it’s like to want something you can’t really have. Something you can’t have  _here_. And I know what it’s like to wait around for it for so long that it gets too late for anything else.”

“Dave and I…” Kurt falters with a heaving sigh. It’s hard to put into words. “We know what we’re doing.”

Az looks at Kurt with an expression he can’t quite fathom and his mouth pinches into a tight line for a second before he speaks. “I just wanted to tell you…I never meant to be a dick.” He shoves a hand into a deep, yellow pocket and Kurt tries not to eye him with mistrust. “I just…I like Dave, man. I mean, not like  _that_ …” Az quickly amends and Kurt rolls his eyes, “I don’t wanna see you two make the same mistakes we did.”

“We?” He asks, and feels an eyebrow rise in interest despite his desire to remain aloof.

“Me, Santana…fuck, a lot of us old timers.”

Kurt can’t fight a bemused smile at that. “OId timers? You’re what, twenty-two?”

“Five years here’s a  _long_  time.” Azimio laughs, almost warmly, as he pulls his hand out of his pocket and holds it out towards Kurt in the offer of a handshake. “Truce?”

Kurt eyes him with suspicion but cautiously takes his hand. The exchange is brief, businesslike, and before he can register the gesture fully Az is walking away. “Just…save your credits for getting out, okay?”

Kurt doesn’t reply, just looks down at the scrap of folded paper in his hand. It’s tattered and misshapen, but instantly recognizable as his own handiwork; his – Dave’s –  _Wonderbar_ -wrapper penguin.

* * *

_**5,011,045** _

“You shouldn’t drink that stuff.” Dave tells him as they amble down the corridor, back towards the floor after lunch

“What - my Very Berry Vita-Water?” Kurt asks in disbelief, licking a residual drop from his lip as he secures the cap back onto the bottle top. “Why not? It’s super healthy.”

Dave smirks a little. “For you, maybe.”

“What do you mean, for  _me_?”

“It makes your lips all,” Dave lets his eyes linger on Kurt’s mouth to make his point, “pink.”

Kurt laughs and slides the point of his tongue along the curve of his top lip. “Pink?”

Dave ducks his head and whispers as though sharing a secret. “And kissable. More so than usual. It’s… _bad_  for my physical wellbeing.”

“Oh,” he loves how Dave looks at him like that, like he’s ravenous, even after lunch, “so you’re saying it makes my luscious lips hard to resist?”

Dave edges closer still and corrects, “ _Harder_  to resist,” then steals the water bottle out of Kurt’s hand, tearing several long strides ahead down the corridor.

Kurt scurries after him and reaches up to grab the bottle Dave’s holding behind his back, out of sight and out of reach. They’re almost pressed together as Kurt attempts to wrestle the bottle form Dave’s grip, and it’s too close for here, for  _now_ , they’re almost-touching in too many places. Kurt’s mouth feels dry and he’s aware that he’s licking his lips again; the lips that he now knows are stained pink, that Dave’s eyes are still delightfully fixed on.

“Fuck,” Dave sighs and Kurt can feel the warmth of his breath tickle his skin, “I wanna kiss you so badly right now.”

“How badly?” Kurt asks softly as he grabs the bottle and ducks to the side, pulling Dave by the t-shirt towards the end of the corridor, away from the floor and towards the elevators.

“Really, really badly.” Dave mumbles and staggers along in Kurt’s grip. He feels excitement twist in his gut at the golden light dancing in Dave’s eyes. Kurt hits the panel beside the elevator door and leans back against the wall, biting his bottom lip.

They stare at each other, daring, for the second it takes for the elevator door to slide open. There’s no one inside. Kurt takes a step back and motions with a flick of his head for Dave to join him. “Then come kiss me, Karofsky, before I change my mind.”

* * *

_**4,261,054** _

_**BREACH NOTICE** _

_**From: The Guard.** _

_**To: Kurt Hummel (participant), David Karofsky (participant).** _

_**Breach of Rule 2.12* – Inappropriate Activity: Sexual Touching.** _

_**Penalty: Level 1(3** _ _**rd** _ _**occurrence) - 750,000 credits (active)** _

* * *

_**4,901,482** _

“So, what if…what if football doesn’t work out?” Kurt asks, hesitant. The general mood on the floor today is cheerless. One of the girls on their pattern, Tina, failed her last-chance try-out for  _Thespian Theatre_ andtomorrow, she turns twenty-three. It’s her last day on the floor and she’s spent more of it crying than pedalling. And, although Kurt doesn’t know her, has never exchanged more than a passing smile with her, her departure hits home for everyone, makes them all think about their own sorry situations, their own tenuous grasp on their dreams.

“I don’t know, it kinda scares me to think of it.” Dave says, smiling though the sad slope of his eyes belies the sentiment. “I don’t want to have to…produce.”

“I know, me neither.” The idea of a future in the mid-zones terrifies Kurt, and always has. He knows not everyone can be as lucky as his mom and dad were, to find someone and get to stay with them. At least for a while.

“I do think about it, though.” Dave says, not looking at him, eyes focused on a little patch of worn skin above his thumbnail.

Since he’s been here, he’s never seen Dave like this. So…sad. Kurt swallows hard and tries to keep his tone light. “What do you think they’d assign you to?”

“Teaching probably, low level. Phys Ed, maybe.” Dave raises his eyes to look at Kurt and that little smile returns. “Those who can’t…and all that.”

Kurt tries his best at a teasing smile. “Not math?”

“No, not  _math_. How about you?”

“I don’t know.” Kurt says honestly, with a small sigh. “I don’t really have a back up. It’s always been singing or acting or performing of some kind.”

Dave is grinning now and it finally reaches his eyes. “You just like attention.”

“So sue me.” Kurt shrugs and bumps his knee against Dave’s under the table. “But I grew up with just one working parent, remember. I was attention- _starved._ ” And though he says it with a jocular flair, it’s true to an extent. After years of the wrong kind of attention, of as much interest as his Dad could feign in his pursuits, Kurt longs to be adored.

The way Dave looks at him, just like he’s looking at him now, gives Kurt a taste of that adoration and he knows he’s being greedy, but he still wants more.

* * *

_**6,500,000** _

“C’mon, it’s safe.” Dave beckons Kurt towards him, inside the restroom stall. “No one will be around for at least another half hour.”

“You don’t have to convince me, David.” Kurt says, attempting a seductive smile. He lifts his hands to rest on either side of the stall’s doorframe. “I’m already invested.”

Dave licks his lips and Kurt notices his nostrils flare a little. He smiles wickedly. “Then get in here, Hummel. This kiss is gonna cost us a million credits. It better be worth it.”

“Oh, it’ll be worth it,” Kurt assures him and slips inside, closing the door behind him. He doesn’t have time to notice the flash of red warning screens before Dave’s arms are around his neck and his lips are on his, hard and satisfyingly familiar.

“Fuck, Kurt,” Dave moans desperately, pushing their bodies together, pulling Kurt closer and he can feel Dave’s erection already, pressing hard against his hip and it sends s bolt of desire through his chest, making him gasp. Dave’s lips are soft even though he’s kissing hard, and there’s a hunger in it - his own and Dave’s combined - more so than in their previous trysts. Kurt allows himself to take the bold step of sliding a hand up and under Dave’s t-shirt, running caressing fingers over hard muscle, tangling in soft – softer than expected – chest hair and Dave imitates the gesture, though his hands search lower, dipping under the waistband of Kurt’s pants and down to cup his ass, tentatively at first then, when Kurt pushes back into the touch and moans in approval into Dave’s mouth, he grips harder, spreading his fingers wide to cover every inch of soft skin there while applying glorious, bruising, pressure,

It’s all so good, this touching-feeling-tasting-grinding;  _too_  good. Kurt tries to pull back as Dave groans in censure and catches Kurt’s bottom lip softly between his teeth before begrudgingly letting go. “Not yet,” he protests, leaning his heated forehead against Kurt’s, nuzzling against his flushed skin.

“If we…don’t…stop…” Kurt can barely speak through labored breaths, still acutely aware of the hot length of Dave’s erection jutting into him, perilously close to his own, even through their clothing, “…I’m gonna…”

Dave releases a sexy rumble of laughter and slides his hand from its spot on Kurt’s ass around to his hip, thumb stroking at the sharp curve of his hipbone. “Then do it.” He murmurs, crashing his lips against Kurt’s again, sliding a hand between them to grasp at Kurt’s achingly hard, needy cock. “Come for me, Kurt.”

And, for once, Kurt does just as he’s told.

* * *

_**5,500,000** _

_**BREACH NOTICE** _

_**From: The Guard.** _

_**To: Kurt Hummel (participant), David Karofsky (participant).** _

_**Breach of Rule 2.12* – Inappropriate Activity: Sexual Touching.** _

_**Penalty: Level 2 - 1,00,000 credits (active) + Impending Redeployment Warning** _

* * *

_**6,047,080** _

“This is…fuck, it’s getting harder Kurt. I don’t…”

“ _I know.”_

“You’re all I can think about.”

“ _Me too, but…We have to stop.”_

“I know.”

“ _I don’t want to.”_

“Me neither.”

* * *

_**7,500,000** _

Dave grits his teeth, heart still pounding too hard in his chest, and keeps his eyes closed as he struggles to let Kurt walk away.

The plan all-but-gone, though not quite forgotten. He opens his eyes just in time to get a final glimpse of Kurt before he disappears around the corner, back towards the elevator, and their eyes meet again. Kurt looks beautifully dishevelled in the half-light and Dave feels a familiar pull in his chest.  _I did that_ , he thinks with something that might feel like pride if it didn’t make him want to smash his head against the wall in front of him because, yeah,  _he_  did that. He’s responsible for this whole sorry mess and his heart aches as he watches Kurt go for what he knows might be the last time; he can still see the flush on his face, the almost-tears in his eyes, as he smiles, small but sincere, and raises a hand – the hand that was just  _touching_  him - in a goodbye wave.

So much for the fucking plan.

Dave turns towards the door and slaps his palm harder than necessary against the panel to unlock it. The noise around him stops and he’s left with sudden, crashing silence as he pushes inside. As soon as the vis-walls illuminate, the message icon flashes predictably at him, though he doesn’t open it just yet.

He may as well delay the inevitable for as long as he can; he knows, anyway, who the message is from, why it’s there and exactly what it’ll say.

Instead, he strips off his sweaty clothes, his boxers sticky with drying come, and activates the shower, lingering for a while, enjoying the memory of Kurt – the taste of his mouth, the heat of his body, the fleeting touch of his hands – while it’s all still fresh in his mind.


	15. Chapter 15

Kurt isn't surprised to see the Guard Officer in his pod when he gets there.

"Can I at least shower first?" He asks it wearily, resigned to the fate he knew had befallen him even before he opened the door. His voice sounds flat and lifeless, even to his own ears, so different to how he'd sounded not fifteen minutes before, panting Dave's name against the delicious scratch of his stubbled jaw. He  _should_  feel anxious, nervous, terrified; that's how he's felt for the last week, at least. Now it's here, though, it's like he's caught in the eye of the storm; he feels eerily calm.

The Officer stands from where she was sitting on Kurt's bed, navy blue jumpsuit clinging tightly to her frame as she raises her hand, holding out the gun-shaped device in her grip. "This will only take a minute."

"What, you're not...moving me?" The last breach notice had warned of impending redeployment in the event of another Level 2 violation. They'd gone into this with their eyes wide-open; they knew that, as much as they wanted to, they couldn't carry on this way. Today would be their goodbye gift to one another; one last breach before...well, before  _this_.

She sighs. "We're altering your pattern. Now, hold out your hand."

"My pattern?"

"Mr. Hummel, hold out your hand, palm down. Please." She gives him a stern look and he raises his right hand – the one that had just been in Dave pants, stroking his dick, the hand that's still a little sticky with traces of his come – giving it a cursory wipe on his shirt-front before offering it to her in compliance. He should feel embarrassed, on top of everything else, but she already knows what that hand's been doing anyway, or she wouldn't be here, right? Anyway, he's pretty sure she's seen worse.

The Officer scans the gun across the back of his hand until it emits a faint beeping sound and then holds it still as she pulls the trigger. A white light heats Kurt's skin unpleasantly for a second before she pulls the gun away. "You've been re-encoded. Your new pattern is the opposite of the one you were on – seven through seven, nights – and commences this evening."

"I'm not moving?" He asks, hand stinging slightly as he drops it back to his side.

"It's technically still redeployment, but you'll remain on Floor 23."

"What about Dave? Will he...know?"

"Mr. Karofsky has received a notification, just the same as you." She slides the encoder into a holster on her hip and steps away from him, towards the door. "I suggest pay heed to it, this time."

Between them, they'd lost five million credits to penalties in the last six months, not to mention countless credits spent on live-calls and messages. Kurt is keenly aware that, if he'd never turned up on this floor, if he'd never failed like a newb on that first day, then maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe he'd be on his own, pedalling and dreaming about a better future, blissfully unaware of what he's missing now. And Dave – maybe he would be on his next fifteen, his next tryout, by now. In fact, if it hadn't been for Kurt's distraction, Dave might even have made it out last time. He tries not to dwell on those thoughts as the Officer exits his pod without a backward glance and he settles nervously on the edge of his bed, motioning towards the small flashing envelope icon on his dash.

They'd talked about this happening. It became unavoidable, really. He and Dave had sworn that they'd go back to just live-calls, back to their original plan. They'd tried to convince themselves and each other that the taste they'd had would be enough to tide them over and drive them on and out so that they  _could_  be together, for real. Except...once he'd had Dave, not just in his mind, not just through words and descriptions and harsh, panting breaths, but in the  _flesh_ , it was too hard to go back. The temptation they both faced each day –  _seeing-knowing -hearing-touching-wanting-needing_  – proved too great to resist. And now, here they are.

_**BREACH NOTICE** _

_**From: The Guard** _

_**To: Kurt Hummel (participant), David Karofsky (participant)** _

_**Breach of Rule 2.12* - Inappropriate Activity: Sexual Touching.** _

_**Penalty Level 2 – 1,000,000 credits (active) + Communications Ban + Redeployment Confirmation.** _

Kurt hits  _ **'Start Stream Notification'**_  and feels his shoulders sag as he watches the now familiar countenance of Officer Duplice fill his display.

_***"Hi. I'm Guard Officer Duplice and I'm here to tell you more about the notice you've received. You and another party were observed to participate in a further breach of Rule 2.12 at 16:09 today on Sub-Floor 23A, Zone 216. In order to maximise your time here on the floor, it's important that you abide by the rules, yet you have consistently failed to do so. While we understand that, from time to time, the temptation exists to break these rules, we assure you that these guidelines have been put in place to help you reach your full potential during your pedalling years. Abiding by these rules will allow you to stay focused on achieving your goal and you both physically and psychologically healthy..."** _

Kurt snorts at that. He's never felt more  _physically_  or  _psychologically_  healthy than when Dave's hands are heating his skin, than when the slick slide of Dave's tongue is occupying his mouth.

_***"Remember, you can watch Puck's Play stream at any time, secure in the knowledge that you're having fun but hurting no-one."*** _

_But fuck_ , he thinks at that, letting his gaze drop just a little, not enough to stop the stream,  _it's not the same_. He feels something inside him begin to loosen, that calm resolve coming undone.

_***"As a repeat offender, you have incurred several penalties already and these, on their own, have failed to deter you from committing further breaches. As such, additional penalties have been applied on this occasion. In addition to the Level 2 penalty of 1,000,000 credits, you have incurred a thirty-day Communication ban and will be redeployed with effect from your next shift. A Guard Officer will visit you in due course with further details of your redeployment, if they haven't done so already.** _

" _ **We of The Guard believe these steps have been necessary in order to get you back on track for the right kind of future. We strongly advise against committing further breaches. Should further breaches be observed, the appropriate penalties will continue to apply. Remember, The Guard reserve the ultimate right to remove you from active pedalling duty should you continue to disregard the rules.**_

" _ **Should you wish to appeal this decision, please ensure you have a valid reason to do so and hit the 'Appeal' icon at the end of this message.**_

_**We hope that, this time, you've learned your lesson. Goodbye."*** _

Officer Duplice stands still on the display, smiling at him from above the 'Appeal' icon, mocking him yet again. That steely calm is gone now, replaced by a violent longing for something, everything, to be different. He wants to cry; he wants to kick and scream, to appeal the decision. He hadn't expected a Comms ban – he wants to talk to Dave, to hear him say that everything will be alright, that it was all worth it, that they'd find their way together again, somehow. He wants to send him a message and tell him that he's still  _here_ , still in the same pod, on the same floor. But he can't do any of those things. Instead, he eyes the chrono and hears himself let out an almost-sob of hysterical laughter. It's four-forty now. His new shift pattern starts in two hours, twenty minutes. The latest he can be back on the floor is ten. So, instead of crying, instead of stripping off his dirty clothes and showering, instead of planning for his new routine or rereading his old messages from Dave, Kurt finds himself screwing his eyes shut and crawling further onto his bed, curling into a ball and willing sleep to take him, for his mind to go blank, even as his hand – still stinging from the encoder, still crusty with Dave's dried come – finds its way into a fist and up to his mouth, knuckles sliding between sharp teeth, his jaw clenching rhythmically, biting back the sobbing he can't allow to start for fear it won't ever stop.

* * *

"Hey Davey-bear, where's the little wom..." Her voice trails off as she eyes first Dave's bloodshot eyes then the lack of red 'reserved' sign above the bike that's normally occupied by Kurt.

Dave looks at Santana but his attempted words stick in his throat. He feels regret wash over him in waves. All he can do is shake his head sadly as his feet go still on his pedals.

"What...?" Santana asks with what seems like genuine concern. "Fuck." She says and slides into the space between bikes, looking gravely up at him. "What happened?"

Dave feels himself press trembling lips firmly together before he can speak. "We did it, San, even though—" he begins and, even before his voice cracks, it sounds wet and broken.

"Come on," she beckons with a convincing hand and urges Dave down from his bike, "Aunty 'Tana's gonna buy you breakfast if you come tell her all about it."

* * *

It's past nine when he wakes, blinking into the dim purple-glow of the walls around him, Officer Duplice is still there on the display, watching him with judging eyes. He feels stiff and grubby as he uncurls from his position in the middle of the bed, his eyes still puffy and damp. He closes the notification and lets the default ad stream play as he shuffles to the shower and shucks off his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor as he steps under the scalding hot spray.

At this time of night, he's usually winding down, lazing on his bed, watching something frivolous and sending flirty messages to Dave. He winces at the palpable loss and tries his best to ignore the twist he feels in his gut, instead dressing as quickly as his tired limbs will allow and heading out, again, towards the floor.

It's almost ten when he arrives, and it's strange, being on the same familiar floor when everything around him is suddenly different. The lights are dimmed on the night shift, making the whole floor feel more dark and dismal that it already does. He's met with a few fleeting sets of questioning eyes as he enters, all of the bikes occupied, except for one, and he's not sure why, but he expected it to be his own; the bike he's pedalled on every day since he got here, but it's not. That one's taken by a blonde girl who's engrossed in whatever she's doing, arms flailing in the direction of her screen. His new bike, it seems, is on the opposite wall, five in, almost right in the middle. He walks quickly towards it, avoiding new pairs of inquisitive eyes as he climbs aboard.

His Counter appears on the screen before him, sad-faced, and there's a red cross spearing the message icon on his dash. He scrolls aimlessly through the menu, looking for something that might take his mind off  _this_ , something that won't remind of too much of Dave, only to be interrupted by some mumbling from his new bikemate.

"Excuse me?" He says, feigning politeness as best he can, though he can't quite pull off a smile. He's really not in the mood for introductions.

"Where's Nick?" She asks, her mouth falling open on the question and staying that way as she gawps at him.

"I," he shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head, "I have no idea."

"That's his bike." She says, brows furrowed in accusation.

"Not anymore." He replies and she simply huffs in response, looking away from him. He rolls his eyes and faces forward again, beginning to pedal.

"Don't mind her," comes a voice from the other side, his right, where his eyes are accustomed to looking at Dave, "she has this thing for Nick. I'm glad he's gone. He was a prick."

Kurt forces a small smile towards the red-haired boy by his side, who's eyeing his screen with interest.

"You're not a newb." He says with a questioning smile.

"No, not quite." Kurt replies but looks brusquely away, eager to finish the conversation and just  _pedal_  until his tendons burn so he can focus on that pain instead of the one in his chest.

"So," the boys continues and Kurt has to close his eyes to stop them from rolling again, "you've been...moved here?"

Kurt turns towards his with a terse smile. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Oh, okay. I get it." The boy nods and smiles dumbly at him, as if suddenly being let in on the joke. "I'm always here if you wanna talk."

"Thanks." Kurt mumbles and turns away, hitting at the first music icon that appears on his dash, grateful for something,  _anything,_  loud and distracting in his ears. Tomorrow, he'll come up with a new plan, find a way to get through the next thirty David Karofsky-free days, a way to survive his new neighbors, but tonight, he wants to switch off his brain - his heart, his emotions - and just  _pedal_.

If the curious boy beside him says anything else, he's grateful he doesn't hear it.

* * *

The refectory lights seem too-bright to Dave's tired eyes. He hadn't slept last night, not a wink, as the events of the previous day played over and over on a maddening loop in his mind; Kurt's quiet assurance that,  _yes_ , he still wanted to; that,  _yes_ , it would all be for the best and,  _yes,_  he wished everything was different, too; the biting, wet heat of Kurt's eager mouth on his skin; the look in Kurt's eyes, sparkling wet with unshed tears as he walked away, and, worst of all, the words in that notice, every fucking one committed to memory, Officer Duplice's whole sadistic soliloquy.

He tells Santana everything –  _almost_  everything - because, fuck it, why not? And, to her credit, she listens with a surprisingly sympathetic ear.

"It's only thirty days," she says, trying to make light of the situation as they head back to the floor. "That's nothing, right? You'll be back to sappy messages and disgustingly graphic live-calls in no time."

"Maybe." Dave says and finds his fingers reaching to touch the faint bruise Kurt left on his neck, the only proof he has, now, that Kurt was ever here –  _his_  – at all. "Maybe not. If they've moved him to a different zone, then, that's it. I might never—"

"Do you really think they would've imposed a Comms ban if your sweetie was going to a different zone  _anyway_?" She asks with an eyebrow raised in familiar condescension. It's a strangely comforting sight. "I highly doubt it, doofus."

"Guess we'll find out." He says with a shrug and makes a half-hearted attempt at a hopeful smile.

"Only time will tell," she says and smiles fondly back at him before reaching a hand to give his arm a little squeeze, "but I'm rarely wrong." Her smile lingers as she pulls her arm away and they start up the walkway towards their bikes. "Now, come on sadsack. Time to hit the pedals." She winks at him. "Gotta keep that ass in shape for your boy."

"Shut up," he mumbles and elbows her gently, though there's another smile tugging at his lips. It lasts as long as it takes him to notice the figure on bike beside his.  _Kurt's_  bike. His heart stops at the sight, the finality of it.

"Fuck," Santana says and stops in her tracks, looking up at him with concern in her eyes. "You ready to meet the new neighbour?"

He shakes his head no, but carries on up the walkway regardless.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Dave's back to being on the floor by eight. Back to pedalling mostly in silence, keeping his head down, eating protein bars and watching Pro-Virtua football in an attempt to regain some of the interest he lost in the game when Kurt was around. He doesn't know how or where Kurt is now. It's only been five days and he  _knew_  it would be like this - that he'd be back to his old safe, solitary routine - but that doesn't make it any easier to handle. They say you can't miss what you've never had, right? But, when you  _have_  had something, it's hard to go back to having nothing _._ He's just counting down now until he can at least talk to Kurt again - make sure that, wherever he is, he's alright - but every minute feels like an hour and each day just seems to last a little bit longer.

What Dave hadn't thought about  _before_ , what he hadn't expected when they agreed to let this happen, was that there'd be no lingering sign to attest that Kurt had been here at all. The past six months are starting to feel to Dave like they might've been a dream; just a trick of his suddenly over-active imagination. There's nothing left of Kurt – the smart-sassy-sexy-stunning boy he'd fallen so readily for – that Dave can hold on to now he's gone. He can't access his messages – all the ones from Kurt, saved in his inbox; their simple daily exchanges, Counter-kisses and shared words of affection – while the comms ban's in place and fuck knows there's nothing else; no paper penguins, nothing  _physical_ to bring Kurt back to him. Just the barely-there remains of the bruise above his collarbone (and, fuck, he wishes he'd managed to mark Kurt in the same way as a little reminder of himself) and the visceral reaction he has to his memories of their time together.

At least he has those. It's still more than he ever had before.

* * *

Kurt tries to adjust to his new pattern, but it turns out that changing the sleeping habits of a lifetime is  _hard_. He barely sleeps at all for the first few days; body clock turned topsy-turvy, fighting slumber despite the bone-deep exhaustion he feels. He  _wants_  to sleep. He'd sleep all day  _and_  all night, if he could; right the way through his shifts. He wants nothing more than to be whisked into a dreamland where comms bans and pattern changes and stupid no-touching rules don't exist. Instead, he finds himself blinking day after day into the alien darkness; his chrono telling his body that he should be up and on the floor, his mind having to remind his body that things are going to be different from now on.

He falls into a routine of starting late every night. The only sleep he  _can_  get seems to be after the cut-off for the pattern change, when he  _should_  be getting up and out of bed, onto the floor, so he takes what respite he can. He begins his eight hour stretch every night at the latest possible hour and finishes at the tail end of the pattern. It's happened by default, but he kind of likes it, this way. He gets to miss out on the initial bustle of the shift, as the trails of arrivals on the floor greet each other and indulge in chit-chat. He goes ignored here, mostly; there's the occasional comment thrown his way, but he makes a habit of keeping his buds in and a steely facade of oblivion. He knows his new bikemates probably think the new boy whose been downgraded from the day shift's a troublemaker or a freak. Or both. He can only imagine the rumors.

He doesn't mind, though. Not really. He finds his thoughts drifting once again to his Dad's words –  _"You're not there to make friends...there'll be plenty of time for all that later"_  – and he knows that it isn't entirely too late to take on board that advice. And anyway, the nightshift isn't exactly filled with the mid-zones' best and brightest, so he's confident that he isn't missing out on much.

As his legs push more slowly than usual on his pedals, weariness weighing heavy on his limbs, he watches the only other remaining pedallers leave the floor without a glance in his direction. He allows himself the comfort of a sad cackle and mutters a quiet, "Alone again," as he realises he'd almost forgotten how it felt; being alone like this. It's not like he didn't have a whole lifetime to get used to it, it's just that after so much time with David...it'll take a while to re-adjust. Six months  _with_  so easily eclipsing eighteen years  _without_.

Not that his Dad hadn't always done what he could. Because Burt had  _always_  done his best to be more than just Kurt's father; he was his mentor and provider, his greatest supporter and, when necessary, his harshest critic. But he just couldn't be a mother too, he couldn't be his friend; he couldn't do it all.

Kurt lets his thoughts linger on his Dad for the first time in a while; melancholia pulling him towards the bad times more than the good. Though even in the bad times, Burt Hummel could always find the right words to say. Kurt remembers with chagrin the first time he  _really_  felt alone; crying in his pod on his thirteenth birthday, when the only message he'd received from his classmates at school read 'Happy Birthday, Homo!' Burt had dried his tears, then, and told him that, sometimes, loneliness was just the price to pay for being different; for being special.

" _People see someone like you, Kurt, and sometimes it makes them uncomfortable. They see a boy that's smart and talented, someone who knows what he wants and has a way out of here that they don't necessarily have."_  His Dad had used the coarse tail of his denim shirt to swipe firmly at the tears rolling down his cheeks. Kurt still remembers how the rough touch seemed at odds with the gentle words.  _"You're special. You have something these other kids wish they had. So they don't come talk to you because, they're scared if they do, it'll make them feel bad about themselves. Y'know?"_  Kurt remembers nodding through his tears even though he didn't know, not really. He smiled, then.  _"And trust me, kiddo, 'cause I know, if you can deal with being alone, you can deal with anything else this world has to throw at you."_

And he knows his Dad was right about that; Kurt knows that he's strong enough to cope with  _this_. But just because he can doesn't mean he wants to.

He's relieved when his chrono hits six-thirty, signalling that his time for the day is up. He's all alone on the quiet floor but for the girl the yellow jumpsuit slumped, half-asleep, by the exit, and, as has become his custom, when he slides down off his bike he allows himself to look; over there, towards his old bike,  _Dave's_  bike.

And he really doesn't have an excuse to wander over towards his old spot and look for any traces the recent-past. It's stupid even to want to, he  _knows_  he won't find anything; he knows that the bike belongs just as much to the blond girl who occupied it all night as it does to Dave, and that he'll find no tangible evidence of either of them there, but still...as he stands on the walkway, facing the wrong direction, his legs are in motion, carrying him towards his old spot before he even realises he's on his way.

There's no trace of him there, as expected, and yet...there  _are_  ghosts of so many memories; Dave's eyes on him that first day, all the shared smiles and whispered words and low-key contact. As he looks at the seat, it's easy for his mind's eye to see more clearly the movement of Dave's broad thighs, the subtle shift of his glutes moving under thin fabric with each turn of the pedals; all the little details he's catalogued and committed to memory. As he lets his fingers brush over the hard plastic seat that he  _knows_  will be occupied by Dave's ass in just a few short hours, it's like contact by proxy and it's not much, but it's enough, for now.

"Time to go." The girl in the jumpsuit, suddenly awake, calls and shakes him from his own reverie.

"I know," he says and reluctantly leaves his old haunt, passing her by as he exits the floor, the ghost of a smile staying on his lips.

* * *

While he endures falling back into something like his old routine, Dave finds his eyes still wander heedless of his mind, in search of Kurt, when he pedals. Now, though, they find only his replacement – Nick – and when Dave catches those unfamiliar eyes he's forced to choose between inane conversation and uncomfortable confrontation.

Nick's the kind of guy Dave would rather avoid contact with altogether, truth be told, but he'll take inane chatter over the alternative for the sake of an easy life. He's just another pedaller, really; some nightshift upgrade in the same old grey sweats as everyone else, but Dave's established already that his new neighbor has loud mouth and seems to spend his days watching as much porn as he does Pro-Virtua. Not that Dave's one to judge anyone for anything they do on the floor, these days, but there's something about the guy that Dave doesn't like. He isn't  _Kurt_ , just for starters.

As the game he's watching comes to an end, Dave finds his roving eyes betraying him once again, landing on Nick who's quick to catch his gaze.  _Old habits_ , Dave thinks to himself with an inward sigh. "How 'bout those Bears, huh?" He forces himself to ask swiftly, noting last night's game playing on Nick's screen. He's learned more than he ever wanted to about the new guy by employing this method of covering his ass.

"You see that last play? Man, I swear I thought they had it..." Nick drawls with an easy smile, and Dave's relieved he could pull on that little bit of common ground between them. He nods absently back at him, mumbling 'uh-huhs' when it seems appropriate. But, as Nick continues to talks about the tight end getting nailed from behind, it just makes him think of how Kurt would revel in the innuendo of the statement and he can't stop his lips from curling into a mistimed smile.

It isn't lost on Nick, whose eyes turn searching, a little hard, as he asks with bluster, "What?"

"Nothing," Dave does his best to recover, smile growing wider as he sees his out when Santana catches his eye while she dismounts her bike. His lets his gaze linger gratefully on Santana as she makes her way towards him.

She eyes him warily on approach and some kind of subtle understanding seems to pass between them. She stops at the foot of his bike and looks up with an overstated smile, "You want anything from the refectory, Davey-bear?"

"Uh, yeah, thanks. Maybe a Vita-Water?"

"Very berry?" She asks, with a restrained lift of an eyebrow.

He feels his cheeks heat a little at the knowledge Santana holds about  _that_  but lets out a little huff of laughter. It's nice to have Santana as another reminder that Kurt wasn't just in his imagination. "Of course," he nods at her in abject approval.

She smiles sweetly at him, all the while ignoring Nick, before starting a slow stroll down the walkway. "Then come get it yourself, lazy-ass," she yells at him without looking back.

"Dude!" Nick howls with laughter, violently slapping his thigh, "You got burned."

"Nah, that's just Santana." Dave assures him and, thankful for a means of escape, drops down from his bike, stretching his legs briefly before going after her.

"So, you two...?" Nick asks, leering in Santana's general direction.

"No," Dave snorts, incredulous at the very idea. But Nick seems every inch  _that_  guy who's all macho bullshit and bravado. Dave's had to deal with those guys his whole life. He even tried to be one, once, but not now. Still, though he's far from in the closet now, he has no duty to out himself to some stranger. "It's not...it's nothing like that. She's not my type." Dave protests with a shrug.

"What are you, a fucking faggot? Man...big tits, dick-sucking lips...isn't she every guy's type?"

Dave feels his lips narrowing into a tight approximation of a smile. "We're...friends, I guess," he says, and he's suddenly struck by that realisation; they  _are_  friends, now, and he's almost as disbelieving of it as Nick seems to be.

"Sure, whatever.  _Friends_." Nick winks and offers a high five that Dave side-steps as he follows Santana off the floor.

* * *

Kurt sits on his own, Wonderbar finished, folding its wrapper into the familiar penguin shape that never fails to bring him comfort. It brings his Mom back to him, a little; her love at least, and it's something he's glad he could share that with Dave. He only wishes that he'd—

"Hey."

Kurt's startled from his daydream by the friendlier of his two neighboring bikemates, Dean, looking him with wide eyes, blue-grey under the bright refectory lights. He almost manages a smile. "Oh, hi."

"Can I...?" The red-haired boy motions towards the free seat opposite Kurt; the seat that would usually be Dave's.

"Oh, I..." Kurt straightens his shoulders and slides towards the edge of his seat, clutching the piece of folded paper on his hand, "I was just about to leave, so..."

"What you doin'?" Dean asks, but remains standing, hovering empty-handed at the edge of the table, and Kurt can't help but wonder just how long he's been standing there.

"Oh, this?" He flattens the figure against the tabletop with both thumbs before hiding it under his palm. It's been days since he's interacted with anyone at all and Dean's gaze feels borderline intrusive. "It's nothing, just...garbage."

"Can I see it?"

He wants to say no, he wants to curl his fist around it and tell his nosy neighbor to mind his own business. But he can't. The guy's probably just being friendly, trying to make him feel welcome or  _something_  and really, Kurt knows he should be grateful just for that, but he doesn't want it right now. Not any of it. He's been denied the only friend he wants. He lets out a small sigh as he removes his hand and lets Dean look at the flattened figure. Kurt's grateful when he doesn't reach out to touch it.

"That's cool," he says and looks nervously around the empty room, "Why do you...?"

Kurt blinks at the question and feels himself begin to blush under Dean's sudden scrutiny. "I...used to make them for someone."

"Someone on your floor?" He asks, and it could sound like an accusation but somehow it doesn't. Dean shoots him shy smile.

"Yeah," Kurt nods, and feels himself almost tempted to return Dean's smile. The small admission feels like some kind of relief, even as he stands to leave, crumpling the figure into an unrecognizable ball in his fist, tossing it towards the guy in yellow by the door, just like he always does.

* * *

It catches Dave by surprise when it happens, though he'd been expecting it to come long before now.

"Karofsky." Nick says evenly as he approaches, though there's a sneer on his lips and something cold in his eyes as he spits out the word. "So  _you're_  the guy."

"What guy?" Dave asks, though he knows exactly what he's going to say. People talk. He's just amazed that it took so long.

"The fucking fag." Nick spits out, glaring up at Dave where he's still perched on his bike. "The reason I'm here."

"Fuck you. Mind your business," he says and tries to keep his breathing steady, turning back to focus on the screen in front of him.

"Oh, I was minding my business. Then you and your faggy  _boyfriend_  couldn't keep it in your pants." He shakes his head and lets out a harsh bark of laughter. "I should've fucking  _known_..."

That's it for Dave, his breaking point. He jumps down from his bike in one swift movement and steps in close to Nick, urging him back against his bike. He sees the other boy draws himself up to his full height and puff out his chest, but Dave's still a little bit taller, a little broader. "Oh yeah?" He asks, and his voice sounds unruffled though he feels his blood boil beneath the surface. "You should've known, huh? How's that?"

"I've seen the way you look at me. It's..."

Santana wedges herself between them before Dave can respond to that. "You should be so lucky, you got an  _upgrade_  because—"

"Don't stick up for this fucking homo piece of shit!" Nick looks at Santana, blinking with incredulity.

"Let's get something  _straight_ ," Santana begins, and she has that vicious look in her eye as she raises her index finger, making a little circular motion as she begins to speak. " _Here_ ," she pauses, jabbing the same finger sharply into Nick's shoulder, "you're just the sad piece of shrivelled meat in the middle of our sexy homo sandwich so unless you wanna know what it feels like to have balls in your mouth – and by that I mean your own, because trust me, no-one else is interested – then keep your fucking moronic, macho-bullshit, nightshift-scum opinions to yourself."

Dave feels dumbstruck as he watches them stare each other down.

"Fucking dyke," Nick snarls after a beat, shaking his head and backing away from them both.

"Mouth-breather." Santana calls after him as he turns with a bark of bitter laughter, shoulder-checking Azimio on the walkway as he passes him to exit the floor.

All eyes are on them, stilled pedallers abound, but Dave feels an almost giddy sense of relief wash over him; he's been waiting for this moment since Nick arrived and he did  _not_  expect it to go quite like that. And fuck it, he's used to being the talk of the floor by now, anyway. "That went well," he says, feeling his chest deflate, his fists uncurl at his sides and his lips curving in the direction of a smile.

Azimio approaches them warily. "Man, you know I got your back, but," he nods towards Santana, who's eyes are still fixed on the exit as if to make sure Nick's really gone, "she just got there first."

Dave smiles at him and he realises that it might be the first genuine one he's managed since Kurt's been gone. Az's words draw Santana's attention and she looks first at Dave, appraising, then around the floor in disapproval. "Show's over, rubbernecks," she yells as she turns on her heel and looks back towards Dave with a sweetly satisfied smile. "You're welcome."

* * *

"Hey," Dean waves a hand between them to catch Kurt's attention and speaks quietly even though the floor's pretty much deserted. "You wanna race?"

Kurt's been pedalling hard, setting himself a goal of eighty-thousand a day, like Dave does, and with little over an hour to go, he's just passing sixty-three. His bikemates are normally gone before now; he normally gets to relax a little in the last hour or so of his shift, watches 'best of' clips from the Dream Stream and pushes himself a little further towards his goal. Dean's presence in itself is starting to make Kurt a little edgy, and now the invitation? Kurt raises a hand to wipe a drip of sweat from the end of his nose and turns towards Dean, eyes wary, as he answers breathlessly, "No, thanks. I'm good."

"Come on," the other boy urges with a smile, "you're going for the burn anyway, right? Might as well—"

"I can't, okay?" Kurt snaps at him, but it comes out sounding more feeble than fierce.

"Why not?" Dean asks, inquisitive as ever. Kurt would feel more guarded if it weren't for the utterly earnest look of the gawky boys face.

He sighs and slows down a little, looking Dean, for the first time today, in the eye. He's so far managed to avoid talking about the ins and outs of his move here, although he  _knows_  people know. "Comms ban," Kurt says, simply.

"Oh," Dean's eyes widen almost comically, "right, because of your..."

"Yep, part of the penalty."

"Oh." He intones, small smile playing on his lips. "So you don't...know what's going on?"

Kurt's feet stop dead and he feels his heart swoop towards his stomach. "Know what?"

Dean narrows his lips and his eyes dart anxiously around him, even though there are only another two diligent pedallers left on the floor. He pops out his buds and whispers conspiratorially, "It's just...I hear people talking."

"And?" Kurt asks, still not sure what exactly he's missed. A million thoughts run through his head; none of them good.

"About Nick," he shoots Kurt a small smile that he can't bring himself to return, "You know he's on your old pattern, right? On the day shift?" Kurt didn't know – how would he? – but he nods anyway, keen to get to the point. "And, well, he still messages Sugar, and Jacob and, well, people talk—"

"What don't I know, Dean?" Kurt can't keep the frustration out of his voice and, even though he's no longer pedalling, his heart pounds fast and heavy in chest.

"Everyone knows why you were moved here." He says, sounding nervous.

"I guessed that much, I'm not stupid. Is that it?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Nick doesn't like  _fags_ ," Kurt feels his skin prick with goosebumps at that, suddenly aware of the sweat cooling on his heated skin. Dean seems to register his change in demeanour. "I mean, I should know," he amends, masking the admission with a fragile smile.

"So..."

"So, he's bikemates with your...David?" Kurt's heart skips a beat at the mention of his  _name_  and he nods again, more eagerly. "And I think he's been trying to cause trouble. But, apparently, your old pattern's like some kinda homo-haven, and no-one's taking his bullshit." Dean lets his grin spread gleefully. "He fucking  _hates_  it."

Kurt feels his mouth hang agape for a moment before he can speak. Relief washes over him in a sudden wave. "So...that's it? Your old buddy doesn't like my boyfriend?"

"He was  _never_  my buddy, but yeah. You dayshift guys might be kinda stuck up, but you're alright by me." Deans says, still grinning, the insult in the statement clearly lost on him.

"That's...thanks, Dean." Kurt says, feeling  _things_  for the first time since he got shifted; puzzled by the unexpected information, overwhelmed by the reminder that Dave's still here, and thrilled at the knowledge that his boyfriend isn't taking any shit from that prick Nick.

"Just figured you'd wanna know if you didn't already." Dean says softly, smile still in place.

Kurt lets himself, for once, return the smile with sincerity. "Does he...does Dave know that I'm here?"

"I don't know...I guess? You and Nick just switched, right? So..." Dean shrugs, looking confused by the question and Kurt regrets letting it slip out. It seems like he's the only one who doesn't know what's going on around here. He wouldn't mind so much if he wasn't so powerless to find out, and if it didn't partially involve him.

Dean goes back to pedalling after their exchange but leaves before long. For once, the boy waves at Kurt on his exit, parting with that shy smile he's seen before, and it's never occurred to Kurt until that moment that maybe he's not been the only one trying to keep a low profile on this pattern.

As he pushes towards seventy-two thousand with barely forty minutes of his shift left, Kurt thinks more about Dave and how they parted; about how they went from feast to famine and he knows – even hopes in his own, selfishly sadistic way - that Dave will be feeling the loss just as much as he is. He wonders if Dave does know he's here – if Nick's friends here have mentioned him; if he's tried to throw that knowledge in Dave's face. It's still eight days before he has any way of finding out. Unless...

Kurt's jarred from his thought by the last remaining pair of pedallers exiting the floor, sharing muted laughter meant only for them. He waits until he's sure they're gone, and then heads out after them, towards the deserted refectory. The jumpsuit there nods a cursory greeting to him as he enters, Star Shot ad playing on the screens in front of the vendors, too loud in the quiet room, and he buys a Wonderbar he has no intention of eating, as well as a bottle of water out of habit, more than anything, though he knows it won't go amiss.

He unwraps the Wonderbar as he strolls back up the strangely dull corridor and takes a superficial bite before he reaches the entrance to the floor. "Wrong flavor," he mumbles around the mouthful as he holds what's left of the bar towards the garbage sack in the perma-grip of the girl in yellow by the door.

As he remounts his bike, he peels the saved paper wrapper from the Wonderbar from around the cool, condensation-damp bottle and begins to fold as he pedals at a leisurely pace, focus shifted from reaching eighty thousand to making a paper penguin instead. The penguin he plans on leaving for Dave to find when he gets here in the morning; a reminder – a  _sign_  – should it be needed, that he's still here, too.


	17. Chapter 17

Seven days, Dave thinks to himself as he leaves his pod and drags his feet towards the elevator, heading towards the floor for another day.  _Just_  seven days; one-hundred and sixty-eight hours, three-thousand and sixty minutes of pedalling to do and less than half a million credits to earn until he can at talk to Kurt again, have him back in his life in some small way.

He's been thinking a lot, mostly while trying not to, over these last few weeks. He'd gone through stages – guilt, regret, fear – before settling on something like the acceptance he feels now.

Kurt's departure had left him feeling bereft; aggrieved by loss, unable at first to focus on anything but the memory of the hurt in Kurt's eyes the last time he'd seen him, the echo of his parting words, the last, bittersweet caress of his touch and how it had all – all of it – been his own stupid fault. He started it – the first live call, the first kiss, the first ' _I love you'_  – and now he had to deal with his part in ending it, too.

He sought distraction wherever he could – watching football, hockey,  _fucking_  tennis, and dumb reality shows– but everything had its own way of reminding him of Kurt (he couldn't watch football without picturing Kurt's Counter in that cheerleader uniform, or see a dumb show in his pod without his mind helpfully supplying a simulation of Kurt's snarky commentary on the content. Porn was  _absolutely_  out of the question), and while that was never unwelcome, it wasn't always convenient.

Just the memory of Kurt ( his face flushed pink with excitement, tongue pinched between plump lips, the curve of his ass as he worked the pedals, his eyes, fuck - just his eyes, blue and green all at once, bright with hope and love hunger) was enough to  _do things_  to Dave and, although he fought it really only to spite himself, he couldn't deny even the  _idea_  of Kurt. Whenever he let his hand wander after his mind, though, it paled in comparison to the real thing. Dave felt almost lost without the whisper of Kurt's breath in his ear or the promise of a milestone to look forward to; a scheduled  _next_   _time_.

And he couldn't help but worry. About how Kurt would be feeling and where he'd ended up, about whether he might be stuck with a homophobic douche like Nick or, maybe even worse than that, some  _other_  guy. A guy like him; a guy who would smile and flirt, someone hotter and smarter, someone who could easily fill Dave's shoes, become boyfriend number two and,  _fuck_ , he loved Kurt so much and they said they'd wait for each other, but...he can't resist torturing himself with that germ of doubt.

It's not what he wants - this remote relationship with Kurt that's all he has to offer now - not by a mile, but it's more than he's had for the last twenty-two days and, whatever else happens, Dave can't wait to hear that his voice again, his laugh, and to see his Counter - face so much like the real thing it's almost hard to tell it's  _not_  -

But he knows, now that he's started to let himself accept it, that as long as they're both here, they'll be miserable whether they're together or apart because  _here_  they're not allowed to have what they want. And while he knows he wants Kurt –  _fuck_ , he wants him in any way he can have him – he also knows he can't have him at any cost; he can't afford to lose it him like  _that_.

As he makes a brief visit to the refectory to pick up a protein bar and an energy drink that will get him through the day, Dave settles on that thought again that keeps coming back to him; that although he can't give  _himself_  to Kurt in the way he wants to, then maybe he can at least offer an alternative.

He nods a weary greeting to Azimio as he enters the floor and Az smiles back at him; a little too wide for this time of the morning. Hell, a little too bright for Az at any time of the day. As he ambles up the walkway towards his bike, the vivid yellow of Az's jumpsuit catches Dave's eye and he turns to find his former bikemate walking just a step behind him, shit-eating grin still on his face. Dave eyes him warily but doesn't stop moving. "What?"

"Hurry up and get to your bike, man." Az gives him a little push in the direction he was already heading towards.

"Where d'you think I'm going?"

Az doesn't answer his crotchety question, just matches him step for step, pausing when Dave turns to set down his drink, eyeing the station with unease. Neither Santana or Nick have arrived yet, the bikes beside his sit empty, red 'reserved' signs lit above them, though that's nothing new, and everything looks just like it does every other day, except...that's when he sees it; a blue-and-white paper penguin, no more than half the height of his thumb, perched innocuously on the raised right-hand pedal of his bike.

He snatches it up from the makeshift ledge, looking around him with suspicion, waiting for an alarm to sounds, a screen to flash red or, at least, for Az to laugh at the hope he knows flashed across his face as soon as he saw the origami figure.

"What...what the fuck, man?" Dave asks and he's laughing, in spite of himself, suddenly fucking giddy at the possibility behind the gesture, bona-fide evidence that it had all happened; that Kurt and his feelings and their connection had all been  _real_.

Az just keeps smiling back at him and shrugs his shoulder. "It was there when I got here."

"Are you...is this some kinda joke?" Dave looks nervously around the floor at the smattering of pedallers who've started the days journey, afraid to trust his gut, even though he know, he fucking  _knows_ , that there's no-one else it could've come from but Kurt.

"I don't know, dude," Az shrugs again and steps closer, lowering his voice, "It's gotta be from Kurt, right?"

Dave nods dumbly at him, clutching the paper in his fist in front of his chest, in front of his racing heart. He finds himself laughing again, a hysterical edge to his voice, "How the fuck, man?"

"Where there's a will and all that shit." Az laughs with him, brown eyes warmer than he thinks he's ever seen them, and Dave feels tears prick his eyes as he has a sudden urge to hug the guy. Mercifully, Azimio shakes his head and starts to back away before Dave risks another penalty or makes an ass of himself. "I'll do some fishin', okay? See what I can find out."

"Thanks Az."

"Now hide that shit and I'll come back for it later."

Dave nods and eyes the little figure carefully – taking in the way the 'W' from the Wonderbar logo loops around the back like little wings – before tucking it into the waistband of his pants and mounting his bike.

As he pedals throughout the day with that single significant piece of paper pressed tightly against his hip and the end of the comms ban firmly in his sights, he feels better. Lighter. Like the weight of twenty-two day has shifted somehow, lifted away by Kurt's little sign. And although it doesn't change anything, not their past and not their future, it still manages to make everything _feel_  different; better. Now he knows for sure that Kurt is still out there, still thinking about  _him_ , still loving him despite his absence. It only strengthens his resolve to stick to his new formed plan, now that he knows he's not making it for nothing; he still has some kind of future with Kurt to plan for.

He wants to get out there, to the edge, with Kurt; where they don't have to pedal, where they don't have to keep a safe distance, because he knows, from experience, from the want he feels gnawing at his insides every day, that no distance is safe enough. And while Dave can't bring himself to regret anything he's done with Kurt – not from that first, unforeseen kiss to those last few furious pulls on Kurt's receptive cock – he can't deny that the future scares him more now than it ever did before.

Because now what he want doesn't rely on having fifteen million credits or a decent team or some dumb luck behind him. Now it's all about Kurt. And Dave just doesn't want to let him down.

So in less than seven days they'll have another little taste of  _together_  - because that's all it  _should_  be, he knows now, even though it's at odds with everything he wants - just one last time and then...well, then he knows what has to happen. He just has to convince Kurt that, for both of them, it's the right thing to do.

* * *

Kurt's been waiting now for days. Waiting for what, exactly, he isn't sure, but he thought that there might be  _something_  after he'd left the Wonderbar penguin for Dave; a sign, a  _feeling_ , maybe even some kind of response. Just anything but...nothing.

And he knows it's silly to be disappointed. It was just a stupid idea. It's not like Dave could  _do_  anything even if he had found it; Az might have left it, passed it on, but the girl who does his job on this pattern would trash anything she found lying around. The little figurine probably never saw the light of the day shift.

Now he has something else to wait for, anyway. There's just one more night of pedalling until the comms ban is lifted and he can send a message to Dave again without the need for any covert paper folding. He gets to the floor earlier than usual so that he can leave early, too. He wants to make sure his Counter looks presentable, that he has time to get back to his pod and shower and shave, because, even though Dave won't see him, even under the unseeing gaze of his Counter's big, brown eyes, Kurt wants to make sure that he's presentable for the occasion, too.

When Dean arrives, later than Kurt for the first time, he eyes his bikemate warily. He's still the only person on the floor that talks to Kurt and, while they're not quite friends, Kurt wonders now if maybe one day they could be.

Dean gives Kurt a perfunctory hello-nod and climbs onto his bike with a suspicious smile. "Early bird, huh?"

"Couldn't sleep." He replies, and he feels his lips, unbidden, curling into a smile that feels unfamiliar on his face. "And my comms ban ends tonight, so..."

"Oh, so...you can contact your boyfriend again?" Kurt nods in response, still smiling. "How long since...?"

"Thirty days, today," he says with a sigh of relief, "I'm glad it's over, it's been—"

Dean narrows pale eyes at him. "You haven't heard from him at all?"

"Well, no – how could I?"

Dean shrugs and looks towards his screen, inclining his hand to scroll through the menu on his dash, Kurt doesn't think he's ever come across anyone as perplexingly inquisitive as Dean before, but as he gets used to it, he finds he doesn't mind it too much. It kind of reminds him of being a kid. Just as Kurt's starting to think their conversation is over, right when he's about to push the volume up on his favourite Rachel Berry song and go back to the v-mall to shop for some new Counter couture, Dean turns towards him again, looking a little nervy. "Did you live call? I mean...will you?"

Kurt knows there's little point in denying it when everyone across both patterns on this floor knows he did more than just  _that_  to get here. He nods again, biting on his bottom in an attempt to kill the smile that refuses to fade. "I hope so."

Dean starts to blush. "But shouldn't you be...I don't know—"

"I just wanna hear his voice," Kurt quickly defends before Dean can formulate the rest of the thought.

"Oh, I wasn't..." Dean's face flushes further, turning a deeply saturated pink. It clashes horribly with his red hair. "I just mean...don't you wanna get out of here?"

"Yes. Of course I do." Kurt assures him, a little bemused.

"But live calls are expensive."

"Not that expensive."

"I guess I wouldn't really know." He flashes a small, almost apologetic smile at Kurt and goes back to facing forward, flicking through the menu on his dash, adding quietly, "I'm just jealous, I guess."

As he goes back to pedalling, back to listening to Rachel Berry sing and previewing how his Counter looks in every piece of virtual clothing he can find, he finds Dean's questions have left him a little disgruntled.  _Of_   _course_  he wants to get out. That's the one thing in his life that hasn't changed. He knows he and Dave can't go back to how things were, but they can go back to how things were before the penalty chasing, right? That was the plan. Little rewards for tangible goals. Although, maybe those goals should be set a little lower, because they wouldn't have time on the floor for just talk, or their time in the refectory to share stories and make pie-in-the sky plans, so they'd need a little extra live-call time. But it'd be worth it. With Dave, it always is.

Kurt sticks to his plan and gets off the floor by five, so he can get back to his pod and be showered and ready by seven. He considers jerking off in the shower but makes himself wait. He knows it'll be so much better, this way. Instead, he distracts himself by dressing and redressing his Counter, settling on tight black pants with knee-high lace up boots and a red dress shirt. There were other, less demure options, but he doesn't want his Counter to look trashy. Although... the chrono shows that it's six fifty-nine and realises with a start that there's no more time for anything. His body all but thrums with excitement, hands trembling as he pre-emptively shoves his buds into his ears. He's  _ready_ ; ready to see the ban being lifted, to see that horrible red cross disappear from his screen and ready to send his highly presentable Counter to deliver a message to one David Karofsky.

' **Hi, I think I may have dropped something by your bike a while ago. Did you find it?'**  Kurt sends the message – thrilling at just the still image of Dave's Counter on the icon - along with a wink from Counter-Kurt. He wants to start light; he doubts things have changed, but...thirty days is a long time, and he really has no way of knowing. He'll save the declaration of love he desperately wants to make until he's sure he'll actually get a favorable reply.

' _ **Oh, that was you? Az refused to trash it, so I had to keep hold of it til I could get it back to you. Pain in the ass. Literally. I had to keep it in my pants'**_ Dave's Counter make the cutest little goofy-face and with that, all the tension's gone; it's just David,  _his_  David, making him smile just like always. Before he can type out a reply, another bubble appears over the smiling Counter's head _._ _ **'I've missed you, Kurt.'**_

' **I've missed you too. So, so much.'** Kurt replies with a sad-face.

The next message comes without delay _ **. 'Can I call you?'**_

Kurt's eye flutter closed and he feels a quiver in his chest. He's trembling despite the blush he feels warming his skin. He starts typing a faux response that he hopes Dave will find charming and witty,  **'Hmm, maybe tomorrow, I'm pretty tired after a long...** ' but gives up when his fingers shake as he moves them over the dash. ' **Fuck, yes, please. I'm dying to hear your voice.'**

' _ **Okay '**_  Comes the response with a wink from Dave's Counter, and he drinks in the sight of the virtual version of Dave as he waits for the live call alert to chime. It looks like he's made a little effort too, as his Counter is dressed in smart, straight cut jeans and – Kurt giggles when he realises – a Rachel Berry tee-shirt under a fitted, black dress jacket. It emphasises, like his Bieste's Bears uniform does, his broad shoulders and narrow hips. Kurt feels a little shock of desire run down his spine as he recalls the real thing.

It only takes a minute for the shrill sound of the alert to ring - like music to his ears - and he realises as he answers with a soft "Hey," that his too-wide smile is back, stretching his lips over his teeth, making his jaw ache already.

" _Hey, stranger."_

"Hey," he says again, feeling nerves start to mingle with his excitement. A million  _What ifs_  scroll through his mind; what if a month away was all it took for Dave to change his mind? What if, after everything, he was glad that Kurt was gone? What if—

" _Kurt,_ _ **fuck**_ _..."_  he begins, tension in his voice that Kurt's scared yet to read anything into. He holds his breath and waits for Dave to say something, anything, else. " _It's so good to hear your voice."_

"Me too. So good.  _Unbelievably_  good." He says in rush of relieved breath.

" _Good."_  Dave laughs in reply, low and melodic and Kurt feels goosebumps prick his skin before he continues,  _"For a while I wasn't sure that..."_

Tension coils in his groin just at the long-lost sound of Dave's voice. "What?" He prompts as his boyfriend trails off.

" _That I'd get to hear it again. Like this. I thought, maybe,"_ Dave laughs again and Kurt's cock twitches so hard at the sound that it jabs at the blanket draped over his lap _, "I'd dreamt the whole thing."_

"I'm right here," Kurt whispers, more breathy than planned, "where I've always been _._ "

" _I realized that when I got your penguin. Thanks for that, it...meant a lot."_

"I just...wanted you to know I was still here. Still thinking about you." He wants to say he wished he'd had the same from Dave, but he bites his tongue.

" _So, Az said you just switched patterns – you're still in the same pod and everything?"_

"Yeah, but it all feels different. This is night-time for me now, I'm all tuckered out and tucked up in bed." He bites his lip at his words, wondering how he always manages to sound so  _suggestive_ when it comes to Dave.

" _Oh. That's,"_  he pauses for breath and Kurt can almost picture the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows, pink tip of his tongue darting out to moisten dry lips. When starts talking again his voice is pitched a little lower, " _too bad. D'you want me to go?"_

"No. Not at all. Quite the opposite."

" _The opposite...oh. Oh yeah?"_  Dave chuckles that familiar low rumble and Kurt's remembering how that noise feels when it reverberates against his chest. He has to push the covers down and off, the sudden heat too much to bear, not to mention the weight pressing all-too-pleasantly against his erection.

"I'm sorry, I..." Kurt tries to take a deep, calming breath, "it's just so good to hear you. Too good," he lets out a little huff of laughter.

" _I wish I could let you feel how good it is for me too."_

"You...really?"

" _Fuck...so good. Are you...I mean, do you...want to...or...?"_

"Yeah, yes, I want this so badly, you have no idea."

Dave laughs again _, "I think I do."_

"I'm..." Kurt feels out of practice, slightly self conscious, but not enough that it threatens to actually stop him, "so hard already, David. Just from  _hearing_  you."

Dave emits a gorgeous little groan of desire; something else for Kurt to catalogue, to add to that special bank of memories.  _"Me too. You don't have hold back, we've waited long enough for this and it might..."_

"Uh-I know..." Kurt finds himself moaning in agreement as he slides his shorts down his hips and shucks them off, grasping to thumb at the wet slit of his cock as it practically leaps into his touch.

" _Tell me what you want."_ Dave says between heavy, steady breaths.

A bolt of desire shoots through his groin at that, Kurt gnaws on his lip, trying to gather his thoughts and calm his excitement before he can respond. "Hmm, you, David, I want you. Your hands, your mouth..."

" _Mmm, my mouth...where...?"_

And isn't that the sixty-four million credit question? So many images – some memory, some fantasy – flash in Kurt's mind and that alone threatens to overwhelm him. He settles for the truth, simplified. "Everywhere."

" _I'll start with your lips,"_  Dave says, voice even with an jagged edge,  _"fuck, I want to kiss you so badly, I've missed your lips so much...just watching them, feeling them against mine...love sucking your bottom lip into my mouth,"_  Kurt can't help the sharp intake of breath at the word 'sucking',  _"tasting you, licking that little, tiny cleft in your chin, biting down your soft skin, your jaw, your neck..."_

Kurt can only whimper in response, a high-pitched 'hmm-hmm' sound that might embarrass him a little if Dave hadn't told him before how much it turns him on to hear it. He's barely touching himself, just holding his cock in a loose fist, letting his fingertips sweep pleasingly along the underside, against the vein that throbs in time with his heartbeat.

"I want," Dave hisses before pulling in a long breath and Kurt pictures him, eyes closed, nead thrown back, broad chest heaving underneath his hands, "I wanna, Kurt, next time, I wanna mark you like you marked me...leave a bruise, show the world that you're mine."

"Yes, please David," he manages to pant in acquiescence, because oh, how he wants to be marked by Dave; he's felt it a little, that hungry, possessive mouth, but not enough. He wants to know what it feels like to have Dave's lips slide hot and wet and unhurried from their kiss, down the curve of his jaw, to feel the slick dip of his tongue, the scrape of sharp teeth, against the hollows and lines of his neck, his collarbone, his sternum.

" _Then, I'd...fuck, I'd...kiss down your chest, your stomach, dipping my tongue into your belly button...fucking it with my tongue..."_

"Oh..." Kurt mouths, unsure whether or not any sound actually comes out or if he's finally hit a note above the frequency of the human range. His grip on his cock tightens and he begins to pump at his shaft, slippery-wet from pre-come, as his other hand trails delicately across his clavicle, down his chest and over hard nipples, following the imaginary trail of Dave's mouth, over his belly and—

" _Are you...is this okay?"_ Dave asks, sounding deliciously breathless but surprisingly unsure.

"I...fuck David, yes, I just...don't stop, I'm so close..." And he realises he is; he lets his head roll back on his shoulders, and his hand drift lower over his hip, passing his other as it continues to take long, firm, strokes, and finds his balls, cool and tight to the touch, tugging them gently in time with each stroke.

" _Good."_ Dave moans and Kurt hears a wet slapping sound, that only serves to push him further towards the edge, before he goes on _. "Then I'd bury my face in your pubic hair while squeezing your fucking perfect ass...and...fuck I bet you smell so good...and I'd ..."_

He pauses and to let out a little series of groan and Kurt's right on the edge, now. "...don't stop David..."

" _...i'd suck your pretty cock into my mouth and let you fuck my face until you explode."_

That's all it takes before that familiar flood of love and want and relief comes and carries his consciousness away. Kurt emits a shuddering breath as he comes apart; all the air, the blood, the come, seems to leave his body in one glorious rush.

Kurt catches his breath, letting his head loll back and his eye drift shut as he listens to Dave's staccato breath, his barely-audible mewling, and imagines it's his hand moving swiftly over his thick, hard cock.

"You sound like you've been thinking about doing that..." Kurt says lazily, still a little winded from his own ministrations.

" _All...the fucking... time."_ Dave grits out with a little laugh.

Kurt turns onto his side, gazing at Dave's sweet-smiling, fully dressed Counter. "Hmm...what if I returned the favour? I know how good your dick feels in my hand, but...I want to feel it in my mouth too, taste it, suck it,  _swallow_  it, David..."

" _Fuckfuckfuckyes..."_ Dave comes as Kurt talks him through his orgasm, feeling a delightful buzz that he knows how Dave's pulsing cock feels in his hand, that he's seen his face red and rumpled in pleasure.

He lets out a satiated sigh as Dave comes down. "I missed this."

" _Me too. I miss everything."_

They utter few words at first, pillow-talk endearments and flirty jokes that grow into an exchange about their time apart; Kurt asks about Nick 'the prick' and giggles at Santana's new found soft spot for his boyfriend and they lament the time they've lost but recognize the credits they've saved.

"I'm forgetting you still have pedalling to do." Kurt says eventually, eyeing his chrono with a pout.

" _I know. All I wanna do now is go to sleep."_

"Me too. I've barely slept since the change in pattern but I think this was what I needed all along. I recommend we make up for lost time, make this a regular goodmorning-goodnight kinda..."

" _I kind of wanted to talk to you about that."_  Kurt tries to ignore the fact that Dave's voice has lost that soft, smiley sound. " _But, you must be tired, I should let you go."_

He shifts so he's sitting almost upright and let's his head droop back against the wall. Counter-Dave still in his line of vision, smiling, and he smiles back. "I don't want you to let me go."

" _I've been thinking..."_

"Oh no, should I be worried?" He asks in jest, but there's a lump threatening to form in his throat at Dave's sudden seriousness.

" _No, shut up."_

Dave's little huff of laughter puts Kurt almost at-ease. "Are you about to dump me for Nick the prick because, honestly, if you are, please lie to me. Make something up instead. I don't care what."

" _Kurt..."_

"Okay, sorry. What is it?"

" _I want to...give you something."_ His voice is tentative but there's a hint of a smile behind it.

Kurt giggles. "Well, I want that too, baby, but it's even  _more_  out of the question now that it was before..."

" _No, not that, although...yeah, obviously."_  Dave laughs but there's a nervous edge to it this time that hasn't been present before now.  _"I want to gift you the rest of the credits you need for Star Shot."_


	18. Chapter 18

Kurt feels the smile slide slowly from his face. He feels his jaw go slack as he replays Dave's words in head before he's able to formulate a response.  _"I want to gift you the rest of the credits you need for Star Shot."_ He blinks at the image of Dave's Counter on his screen like it's just malfunctioned; like it's responsible for the words he just heard.

" _Kurt, I..."_ Dave starts again, filling the sudden silence.

"No. Absolutely not. No way. Are you crazy? We just got back together."

" _No, wait. Just...think about it."_  Dave's voice is soft in protest and achingly earnest. This doesn't sound like a joke.  _"This isn't being together, not like we want. I...I just want you to have a chance. What's the point in staying here, pedalling every day on your own, when you could get out now?"_

"Okay, firstly," Kurt sits bolt upright on his bed, still glaring at the innocent Counter idling on his wall. "I'm not on my own. I'm on a different pattern, but I'm still very much  _here_ ," he pauses, fighting back the tears he can feel threatening to fall. He hopes in vain that he's actually fallen asleep, post coital and overtired; that this is all just an untimely nightmare. "We can still message, we can still talk. And secondly, I want you to get out, too. You've worked hard for this, David. We both have. We said we'd try together..."

" _I've had two shots already, Kurt. It's hard and I don't—"_

"So you're just throwing it all away?" He winces at the sound of his own voice, wavering, turning shrill with anger.

" _I'm not throwing anything away, I'm giving it to you."_

Kurt lets his eyes fall shut when his vision starts to go blurry with tears. "Are you...are we breaking up?"

" _Shit, no, that's not what I want at all...I just...if we both stay Kurt,_ _ **this**_ _'ll happen every day. I know it will. I can't_ _ **not**_ _...and all the credits..."_ Dave's voice sounds shaky and small as he trails off.

"I know, but you can't just..."

" _I'll still try-out, I'm not giving up. I just don't see the point in waiting any longer than you have to. You're probably gonna get out before I do anyway. You might as well be out there now, doing what you want. It'll only motivate me to do it, too. Otherwise, I'm..."_

"We'll go back to the plan, though, like we said we would." Kurt knows he sounds whiney –  _needy_  – now but he's long since lost all sense of shame. "Forget what I said before about doing it every—"

" _That didn't work last time."_ Dave says, sorrowfully.

"But...I don't care," his voice takes on a desperate edge of almost-optimism that belies every sharp claw of hurt he feels tearing at his insides. "I don't  _mind_  waiting, I don't  _mind_  it taking longer, it'll be worth-"

" _Kurt, listen. I've thought about this. You told me about your parents, right? How your Dad thought he held your Mom back or whatever and...I don't want that to be_ _ **us**_ _..."_

"It wouldn't be."

" _Why not? We've done everything we said we wouldn't do already. At least, this way, you won't wind up resenting me or—"_

"I would  _never_ -"

" _How do you know that? You never know what might happen. You have to take whatever chance you can get, Kurt. If you don't make it, we go back to the plan, but if you do, you'll be so— "_

"But..." Kurt tries to interrupt him but there's nothing he can say. He knows, deep down in a part of him he wants to deny, that what Dave says makes some kind of sense. But...

" _At least this way, if you do make it, I still get to hear your voice. I get to_ _ **see**_ _you every day. I can watch you out there, living a real life. And I can aspire to that. I can work towards getting my ass out there to find you, where we can have something...more than this."_

Kurt worries at his bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth. It tastes salty from the tears he realises have started to fall. He makes another feeble attempt at dissent, "But I don't want—"

" _Don't say it. I just...I don't ever want to hold you back."_

He sobs brokenly, the floodgates of emotion well and truly open, as he stutters out his words. Because he knows Dave's right. And it wouldn't just be Dave holding him back; he'd be holding Dave back too. "But I miss you so much already."

" _I know. Me too, but that's why..."_  Dave's voice sounds smaller, weaker than it ever has before – like he's fighting against his own words - and that just makes it worse.

A moment passes where they listen to each other quietly crying, sniffling against the wet, wrecked sound of each other's tears. Dave might be right, he might have the best of intentions with this stupid grand gesture, but this isn't how it was supposed to go. There's a physical pain in his chest and he feels cold. Kurt inhales sharply, dabbing damp eyes with the back of his hand. Dave, from what he can hear, isn't faring much better. "Y'know, I even kind of miss Santana mocking us," he manages to say, half-smile choking on a sob, "I hate it here without you. It's all dark and dreary and Dave-less."

Dave heaves an audible sigh _. "But that's my point. It'll only get har—"_

"I might not even make it."

" _But you might."_  There's another beat of silence between them. He knows Dave's offering him a chance at everything he's ever wanted. And he knows that, one way or the other, now or in six months time, he can never guarantee that they'll make it out together.  _"We...we can try this, if you really want to,"_ Dave continues, voice still rough with emotion _, "fuck knows I don't wanna let you go, but... I don't even get to_ _ **see**_ _you now, and I know that a message and a Counter kiss every morning and night won't be enough."_  Kurt  _knows_  he's right. He feels the same way.  _"Honestly, I know how I feel. You...you drive me crazy,"_ Dave pauses and lets out a strangled breath,  _"and I'll end up spending every minute I can, every credit I earn, on live-calling you or...more if we can find a way."_

It hits home then, the reality of it, and, no matter how unreasonable he sounds, he can't keep his feelings to himself. "I love you so much David," he says, voice almost pleading, "right now, _that's_  all I want."

" _But what about when you don't?"_  Dave asks and lets the question hang heavy between them. Kurt stays still and quiet; he doesn't know how to respond to that because he knows there's always the possibility that...  _"You've given me something I never thought I'd have, and don't want it to end sooner than it has to because of...all this."_

"But you're ending it now."

" _No! No, I'm just...we're just delaying it until we can really be together."_

There's another long stretch of silence between them, overwrought with unasked questions, unanswered objections. Kurt feels raw, inside and out, as he sniffs and concedes defeat; he'll think about it, at least. Dave obviously has. And if it has to end at all, he doesn't want it to end badly. "What if I just say no?" He manages an insolent smile as he wipes the tears from his face with the scratchy side of his blanket. "What if I stay here until I get to fifteen on my own?"

Dave senses the subtle change in his tone and mirrors it. There's a gentle smile in his voice as he argues back, _"Then I'll call you every day, and spend all my credits, and you'll..."_

"And what if I refuse to answer your calls?"

Dave gives a little wheeze of laughter that catches in his throat and becomes a ragged breath instead. The sound is enough to put another little tear in Kurt's already aching heart. " _Are you saying you don't wanna talk to me, Hummel? Because I can go now, if you want."_ There's a faux-petulance to his voice, despite the audible quiver, that sounds just so... _Dave_.

"No, silly..." He protests.

" _We'll bend or break every rule we can, I know we will."_ Dave says, almost a whisper in Kurt's ear.

"I'm sorry." Kurt says softly, biting back another sob.

" _Don't be, never be sorry for any of this...just, think about it, okay? You don't have to decide right away, but the longer you wait, the harder it'll get, so just...please?"_

He's sure, now, as he listens to Dave plead with such sincerity that the little rips and tears in his heart extend and merge to form a fully fledged break. "Okay," he whispers, closing watery eyes against the sight of Dave's smiling Counter.

" _Thank you."_

Kurt re-opens his eyes as he hears Dave sniff and clear his throat, then his Counter is blowing Kurt a bittersweet kiss. He knows he'll be a snivelling wreck again in seconds if he doesn't say something to offset it. "You're sure you don't just want rid of me because you like Nick the prick?"

Dave nearly laughs.  _"Are you seriously concerned about this?"_

"Only a little." Kurt replies, although he knows that Nick is the least of his worries.

" _You're an idiot."_ He says soft and low, like it's a term of endearment.

"But...you love me anyway, right?"

" _I love you anyway."_

And as they disconnect, Kurt knows that, in spite of –  _because of_  – everything, that he really does mean it.

* * *

Dave's riding a rollercoaster of emotions as he pedals. He feels light-headed and nauseous but, somehow, it feels almost good. He'd been playing the possible twists and turns of that conversation over and over in his mind, agonising over whether or not it's what he wants or if it's the right thing to do. And now he knows that, yeah, it's not what he wants, not really, not if he's being selfish, but he has the potential to play a part in giving Kurt everything he's ever wanted and that feels right. It's so much better than any shitty v-gift.

When he got to the floor that morning – after nine, waylaid by their call – Az gave him a knowing nod. "She's in, man."

"She said she'll do it?"

"She better, I had to promise her eight of my best pain pills. Girl drives a hard bargain." Az smiled at him and Dave did his best to ignore the shade of pity behind it. He held out his hand.

"Thanks, man." Dave whispered, and pressed the paper against Azimio's palm.

"What are friends for?" He asked as he walked towards the empty plastic bottle that had just ben thrown on the walkway.

Santana caught the brief exchange and asked, "What was that about?"

"Nothing," he said, unable to suppress his smile.

"Oh, the this-has-something-to-do-with-my-cutie-pie-boyfriend kind of nothing?"

"Maybe."

"Come on," she said, pushing him back towards the exit, "you look like you need to eat something. Come talk to Aunty 'Tana."

And as they walked to the refectory and shared a late breakfast together and he told her about the penguin, about their call – "Spare me the down and dirty details.  _please_ , I'm eating." – and about the gift he wants to give to Kurt. She smiled at him, with that same look of melancholy affection he got from Az. "You're an idiot," she said, "but that's the most romantic thing I've ever fucking heard."

Dave spends the rest of the day dying to send Kurt another message, but he knows it'll be lights out on his pattern, knows his boyfriend will be sleeping or trying to, so he waits. He knows, anyway, that Kurt will hear from him, soon enough.

* * *

When Kurt wakes it's to the electronic caw of the cockerel and he swipes at it with enough force to break its virtual neck. It only takes a few blinks of his tear-bleary eyes to realise it hadn't been a dream; the message icon blinks on the vis-wall in front of him as a bittersweet reminder that the ban is gone, he has his Dave again but, well, for how long?

He sits up and presses the heel of each hand as deeply as he can manage into his eye sockets, trying to deflate the puffiness beneath them, before going back to stare at the attention-seeking envelope on display. He knows that it'll be something from Dave but now he's scared to find out  _what_.

He forces himself to take a deep breath and runs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. This is all just because Dave loves him, right? Because they've had too much time apart and too much time to think about the future, too much time to dwell on past conversations, pent-up feelings and failings and insecurities. It's a grand and generous gesture and he knows Dave means well but, if he can just have a little time, he's sure he can convince him that they can get to where they want to be without the need for  _this_.

An ad for Star Shot pierces his bubble of thought and, for the first time, he curses Rachel Berry's face and skips the ad heedless of the penalty. Now is not the time to see everything –  _almost_ everything – he's ever wanted displayed all around him in hi-def technicolor and surround sound.

He takes in the sum total of his digits he as motions towards the message icon with a reluctant hand.  _8,177,452._  He's earned almost two million credits in the past thirty days; without any calls or messages to spend them on, without anything to do on the floor all night but pedal and earn more. He pushes the thought aside as he pulls the little envelope to the front of his dash.

**1 Message from David Karofsky. Open?**

He stalls, blinking at the words floating in front of him, pausing for way longer than he ever thought he would at the thought of opening a message from Dave. When the words start to blur around the edges he opens it and can't hold back a gasp of surprise at what flies out.

It's the image of a shimmering gold box, gift-wrapped and bowed, and it bounces from the tiny envelope with a trail of twinkling gold stars. He's never had a v-gift like this before. So... _fancy_. There's a tag on the side that reads  _ **8,000,000 C**_  –  _ **Accept or Decline**_  and Kurt involuntarily reaches towards Decline before a little arrow at the edge of the tag catches his eye. He taps it and it flips the tag over to reveal Dave's message -  _ **To Kurt. I love you. Do it for us X –**_ and it makes him smile in spite of himself.

When Kurt gets to the floor he's still wearing that smile because, whatever else happens, he has Dave back in his life, at least for now. The girl in the yellow jumpsuit smiles uncharacteristically at him as he steps onto the floor and she looks as though she might, as though she wants to, say something but she doesn't and he walks unheeded to his bike, just like he always does.

He thinks a lot about what Dave's proposing; about their recent past and the possibility of a  _real_  future. Together. He's lost in contemplation for the duration of his shift, and it's not until the end of the night that she catches his eye again, staring at him when they're alone, just the two of them, on the floor in the wee, small hours of their pattern. She approaches his bike. "Um, Kurt?"

He realises as she says his name that it's been over a month, and he still doesn't know hers. "Hi?" He says, feet still working his pedals.

She slides in close – a little too close – and makes a point of bending over, giving Kurt a full view of her yellow-clad ass. He has nothing against yellow, per se, and he for sure has nothing against asses, but this particular ass? Not really his cup of tea. And, for one horrible moment, he thinks she might be reading something into their late-night/early morning  _alone time_  and clears his throat in an attempt to bring an end to the display. She turns to look up at him with doe eyes and says flatly, "You dropped something."

He looks at her quizzically because, um,  _no_ , he didn't and if he had in fact dropped something then shouldn't she have picked it up while she was busy wavering her ass in the air? His eyes drop automatically to the square of tiled floor beneath them and–

"Oh."

It's all that he gets to say as she quickly retreats back to her station by the door. It takes a moment for Kurt to get off his bike, to swoop down and pick up that – yep, it's the same one – little paper penguin he'd made for Dave the week before and, even though he's spoken to Dave now, the ban's over and they've talked and laughed and cried and come together,  _this_  feels like the sign he's been waiting for.

He twirls the little figure by the worn-soft beak before shoving it swiftly under the elastic waist of his pants, remembering with a smile where Dave said he'd been keeping it all week, then he climbs back aboard his bike, where he opens Dave's message and quickly clicks  **Accept** , unwrapping that golden gift box icon, before he can change his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out the gorgeous artwork inspired by this fic over on tumblr by idrawstuffyall.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry of you've been waiting for an update - I've been posting chapters over at FF.Net but got a little behind over here!

The first message reads  **'You're crazy!'** and Dave smiles and watches through half-lidded eyes as the visage of Kurt's Counter grins broadly at him from its position alongside the words, lighting up the room even as the virtual sun rises on the right-hand vis-wall, trying and failing miserably in its attempt to outshine the virtual version of his boyfriend.

He knows that Kurt must've sent this when he received the golden-giftwrapped credits. The chrono reads  _6.32am_  and Dave knows, too, that Kurt will be back in his pod by now, waiting for him to reply. He hauls himself up to a sitting position and leans his back against the coolness of the wall behind his bed, rubbing sleep from his tired eyes before motioning towards his dash. He has another three messages in his inbox that he knows are all from Kurt, just like he knows from the sum of his digits -  _57,771 -_ that Kurt has already accepted his gift. He hits 'reply' anyway and types out his response - ' **Just crazy about you, Hummel.** ' - adding a wink for his Counter to deliver before moving onto the next message.

' **Thank you. I love you too. I just have to think. Pedalling and thinking.'** The Counter's expression changes to wide eyed consternation and it raises a hand to towards its mouth to chew on a virtual fingernail. Dave smiles back at it fondly before flipping onto message number three and Kurt's Counter changes its stance, plants a hand on a well-dressed hip and pokes a pink tongue out.  **'What would I even sing? I haven't been practicing. You haven't thought this through at all, David.'**  And then it's onto the final message, that reads simply ' **Two gifts in one day?'** with an adorable eyelash flutter from Counter-Kurt.

Dave feels strangely calm despite the fact that  _this is actually fucking happening_. He's had plenty of time to think about it; he  _should_  be used to the idea by now but, somehow, he expected to feel differently when the time came. He guesses it's because, right now, the shift from  _plan_  to  _action_  still feels abstract.

He begins to tap on the panel in front of him again, replying to Kurt's other messages, only to be interrupted by the chime of the live call alert tone and the familiar words flashing across the vis-wall in front of him:  ***Incoming...Live Call from Kurt Hummel. Accept or Decline?***

Dave scrambles out from under the covers to find his buds on the floor and hits 'accept' as soon as he can get one of the plastic earpieces firmly in place.

" _David, I did it."_  Kurt says without the preamble of a greeting. His voice is high and has an almost manic edge.

"I know." Dave answers with a small huff of laughter, voice low and still rough from sleep. He feels that sense of calm begin to slip already. "How d'you feel?"

" _I don't know,"_ Kurt chirps _, "...nervous, excited, terrified...guilty."_

"Kurt, don't." He warns as he absently eyes his digits. He feels his heart clench with what he hopes is just excitement by proxy. "This is...what we both want. And you have nothing to be scared about. Just be excited. This is it. You're gonna do great."

" _Thank you, David."_ Kurt sighs, and his voice is a little softer now, like he's soaked in some of Dave's earlier calm. _"I just wish that..."_

"I know. I do too." Kurt is on his way; Dave lets his eyes close against the painfully happy looking sight of Kurt's Counter and reminds himself that this is what he wants.

" _I can't thank you enough... for everything."_

He forces the smile back onto his face. "I expect you to pay me back, you know."

" _I will."_ Kurtassures him, and his Counter nods in enthusiastic agreement. _"A million times over."_

"I'll hold you to that," Dave says and fuck knows he hopes he'll get the chance. "Have you...bought it yet?"

" _Yeah,"_  he says quietly and Dave hears him suck in a big breath before continuing, " _I go for selection tomorrow."_

"Wow, that's...fast."

" _I know, but I get to take someone with me."_  Dave can hear the tremor in his voice, half enthusiasm, half...something else. He wishes he could see the look on his face right now; he can  _imagine_  it with precision – all bright eyes and dimples – but he knows from experience, now, that nothing can compare to the real thing.

"Oh yeah? Who's it gonna be?" He asks with smirk. Dave wants to let Kurt enjoy this – they've shed their shared tears and he wants to any time they have left together to be happy.

Kurt giggles.  _"Oh, I'm not sure,"_  he replies, feigning nonchalance.  _"There's this guy I kind of like. I might ask him."_

"Oh yeah? Someone from your floor?"

" _Technically, yes."_

Dave's lips stretch towards a smile, contradicting his words. "Hmph. I don't think I like him."

" _Hmm."_  Kurt hums in consideration. " _He_ is  _kind of a dork, but he's sweet and generous too, and really hot, so that makes up for it."_

"So that's your type, huh? Hot and dorky?" Dave feels his face flush and his stomach do a little flip-flop at the compliment. He tries to push away the thought that it's  _this_  he'll miss the most; the easy back and forth between them, their flirty banter.

" _It would seem so."_

"Lucky for me."

Kurt gasps in mock surprise _. "So you knew it was you all along?"_

Dave chuckles and watches the expression on Kurt's Counter's face alter to match his tone. "I kinda guessed. You're not that subtle, Hummel."

" _So," Kurt says, voice turning soft and serious, "will you come with me?"_

Dave can't help but laugh again; Kurt actually asks like there's a chance he might say no. "Of course I will. I'll even wear something sexy and make a little banner like you did when I tried—"

" _No, David, I get to actually take you_ with  _me. In person."_

"What?"Dave sputters out, wondering if Kurt's still just playing with him. "That's not very—"

Kurt cuts him off, that giddy quality creeping back into his voice.  _"I get to_ see  _you again. We get to see each other. And it only cost an extra million—"_

"Did you have the extra million? I mean, that's..."

" _I had it and it's done."_  Kurt says emphatically.  _"This isn't optional, David. You're coming as my friend-slash-family support."_

"Fuck, Kurt..." He all but whimpers, heart pounding suddenly too-hard in his chest. He'd already resigned himself to the fact that he might not see Kurt again. At least not for...a while.

" _You do want to come, right?"_ Kurt's voice is pitched high with concern and makes his heart clench again. As if he could  _ever_  say no.

"Yes, shit, of course. That's fucking  _awesome_. I just...didn't know. That's..." Dave can't find the right words to express how he feels. He'd thought of everything  _but_  this. Now, just the fact that he'll get to see him again, makes it worth every single one of those credits. He'll get to be right by his side for the most important moment of his life; offer encouragement, support, hold his hand, maybe he'll steal one last kiss...Dave has to shake his head to stop himself from sliding further down that slippery slope of thought. "When?"

" _Tomorrow at noon. The notice says,"_  there's a pause and a little puff of breath and Dave can hear Kurt move around his pod. He pictures the smile he knows will be present on his face; cheeks pink with excitement and the flex of long, lean legs as he moves to get comfortable on his bed. He thinks about how he'll actually get to see it all again, not just on stream, like he'd thought, but for real. The former flip-flop in his stomach turns into rampant flapping.  _"Hold on, I'm just loading it up again. It says,"_ he adopts a low-pitched, voice-over style that makes Dave laugh to himself,  _"'Check in at noon for the green room experience, where the anticipation builds while you and your fellow hopefuls wait to take part in pre-show selection—'"_

A little alarm bell sounds in Dave's mind. "What does  _that_  mean?"

" _I'm getting there. Patience, David."_  He chides in that haughty tone Dave knows he should find annoying, but just finds...kind of hot instead.  _"Now, where was I? Right, so, 'During pre-show selection, you will be screened and tested to ensure that you are lens-ready. Please think before your arrival about why you're auditioning and what you want to achieve. The more versatile, open and honest you are during pre-show selection, the more likely it is that you will be selected to appear on the Star Shot live stream.'"_

It irks Dave that no one tells you this shit  _before_  you part with your credits; just another shitty thing about the shitty system they've no choice but to be part of. His heart sinks a little. "So you're not even guaranteed a spot on the live show? That's bull—"

" _David."_  Kurt rebukes. " _That's just how it works, I guess. Like your try-out. You...make it through, or you don't."_

"I guess." Dave says, trying not to let his frustration show too much.  _Happy thoughts_ , he reminds himself. "You're a shoo-in anyway. They'll take one look at you and..." Dave lets himself trail off with an audible happy-sigh. His irritation ebbs away as he enjoys looking at the virtual version of his boyfriend instead.

" _And what?"_  Kurt prompts, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"And they'll fall in love with you. Just like I did."

Kurt sighs and it sounds deceptively intimate; Kurt's breath right there in his ears.  _"I can't wait to see you again."_

"Me too." Because...fuck. It's been too long, and however this goes he knows it'll be longer still until the next time.

" _Whatever else happens, we'll have that, right?"_ That tremor's back in Kurt's voice, but Dave's still determined to keep any kind of melancholia at bay.

"We will." He agrees quietly, before adding with a smile, "I guess I better shave, make myself look respectable. I don't want to embarrass you out there."

" _You haven't shaved?"_ Kurt sounds surprisingly intrigued by the prospect.

"Not in a couple of weeks, not since...trying to save some extra credits."

" _I'm so—"_

"Kurt, don't. You're not allowed, okay?"

" _Okay. But you don't have to shave. I'd kind of like to see you with a little stubble."_

"Oh yeah?" Dave can't suppress a smile at that, or the little jolt of lust it inspires.

" _Hmm, yes. I bet you look sexy."_

"You'll have to wait and see, huh?"

" _Not long though."_

"Not long at all." Dave finds himself smiling, rubbing a hand over his newly grown fuzz, probably a little too long now to be classed as just stubble. He imagines Kurt's face at the sight; imagines soft lips curled into a smile, pressing experimentally against his own, and the gentle scrape of eager teeth against the scratch of his jaw... "I better let you go. This'll eat up whatever credits you have left."

" _That's ok. I kind of owe you everything forever now, so..."_ He trails off with a small chuckle. _  
_

"Hmm, I'll remember that." He says, a little more breathlessly than intended.

" _Anyway,"_ Kurt continues, voice light,  _"I have almost a hundred-thousand left, and I doubt I'll be able to get any sleep."_

"Anything I could do to help with that?" Dave asks before he can stop himself. He licks his lips reflexively as he waits for a response.

" _There's maybe something,"_  Kurt says and Dave smirks and eyes his chrono. There's still plenty of time before he has to head to the floor.  _"Though it's probably not what you're thinking."_

"Oh?" Dave says, letting himself slide down a little where he sits; his hand trails low and lazy over the hair on his belly. "What do you think I'm thinking?"

" _I think you_ know  _what I think you're thinking."_

"And am I wrong?" Dave asks, a little bemused as arousal starts to cloud his senses.

" _Not exactly, but before we do_ that _, would you mind..."_ Dave feels the tension in his stomach travel lower as he pictures Kurt biting his bottom lip in needless apprehension. It does nothing to dampen the desire that's now flowing unashamedly through his own body.

"Anything Kurt." He says softly and swallows hard. "You know that."

" _Will you listen to me sing?"_

Dave laughs at the innocence in the question. He palms his burgeoning erection with only a little bit of shame. "Do you mind if I jerk off at the same time?"

" _David!"_

"I'm kidding!" He assures him with a groan, before smiling wickedly and amending, "Half-kidding. I can't promise anything."

" _I'm sure you can wait. I'll be sure to make it worth your while."_  Kurt says in a teasing sultry tone and then laughs. It's already like music to Dave's ears. _"What song should I sing?"_

"You know that one I like, the 'hold-your-hand' one that you always sing."

" _You don't think it's too...?"_

"It means something, right?" Dave knows the song means a lot to Kurt; it reminds him of his mother, of his childhood dreams and his Dad's encouragement. And yeah,  _okay_ , so he knows that the lyrics make Kurt think of him, now, too.

" _You know that song means a lot to me."_

"And it sounds...beautiful, Kurt, when you sing it."

" _That one, then." He says decisively, a definite smile in his voice._

"That one." Dave agrees and there's a moment of bittersweet tension between them, a silent sentiment neither is ready to voice. Instead, Dave makes his own Counter smile widely in encouragement, and gives Kurt a mischievous wink. "Now, just let me take my pants off, and you can start singing."


	20. Chapter 20

"Fancy running into you he—" Dave closes the remainder of the gap between them, running instead of walking towards Kurt where he stands, smiling, by the elevator.

When he pulls him into a fierce bear-hug, Kurt's words dissolve into something between an elated gasp and a giggle, and after thirty-three days of nothing, just  _this_  is almost too much...but still not nearly enough. He can feel the shudder vibrate through Kurt's chest as their bodies press together and when the moist heat of Kurt's breath hits the curve of his neck it leaves Dave with more than just goosebumps; it brings back memories of doing exactly  _this_  and more – alarms flashing and penalties be damned – and it takes every bit of willpower he can muster to pull out of that warm, not-quite-familiar-enough, embrace.

They stand facing each other at their designated meeting point: the far end of the middle corridor, in front of the elevators on Floor 23. People pass by in the near distance, heading to and from the refectory, paying them no mind. There's less than a foot between them now, twin smiles on their faces as they just  _look_  at each other. It's not like he'd forgotten what Kurt looked like -  _fuck_ , far from it - but the sight of him – hair side parted and swept back, a rosy blush spread high across pale cheekbones, eyes sparkling blue, bright with excitement, and cheeks dimpled at the point where they meet smiling, too-pink lips – right there within easy reach, still manages to take his breath away. Dave devours all of it hungrily, eager to take in every detail, to memorize and regurgitate later; the shower-fresh scent of soap on Kurt's skin, the lingering warmth from the press of Kurt's palms against his back...it's a like a banquet for his Kurt-starved senses.

"David—"

When Kurt starts to speak, Dave releases the breath he didn't realise he was holding and the words just flow. "It's so fucking good to see you."

"God, David, you too," Kurt says like it's the understatement of the century and takes a step closer, raising a hand towards Dave's face before catching himself and quickly pulling back. He bites his bottom lip, still upturned even as he fights the grin threatening to resurface, "but...you shaved."

"Yeah," Dave laughs and reflexively runs his fingers over his the smooth line of his jaw. He takes a small step closer and lowers his voice, blush starting to eke its way across his skin. "I didn't want to run the risk of you not liking it."

Kurt gives him an appraising look and shakes his head, heaving a little sigh. "You're an idiot," he says, still smiling, and turns towards the elevator, gently shoulder-checking Dave as he goes before hitting the panel. "But a sexy idiot. Clean-shaven or not."

Dave feels his cheeks burn and  _fuck_ , this is just what they do, they've done it a million times – they did it with ease on their last live call – but it suddenly feels like it's been so long since they got to do it in person that Dave's mind goes blank and he realizes he's just standing there, staring back at him like, well, an  _idiot_.

Kurt turns his head back towards Dave, smile starting to fade a little at the lack of response, and asks, quietly concerned, "Are you...ready for this?"

He is ready. Ready to face what lies ahead; a few hours of glorious, torturous proximity to the guy he loves, a final few hours of flirty banter, of whispered words and promises they both know they might never be able to keep. He's ready for another six months on the floor alone, rinse-and-repeat days of pedalling, wishing, wanting. He's even ready, now, for another Pro-Virtua try-out. But mostly, he's ready to keep that smile on Kurt's face, to help him stay calm, and to do whatever he can to make sure they get enjoy their last few real moments together.

Dave sucks in a breath and steels himself.

"Ready for a whole day of you berating my idiocy, Hummel?" Kurt purses his lips at that, though there's still a smile threatening to break free. Dave smiles wide and lets the backs of their fingers brush before moving forward as the elevator door slides open. " _Fuck_  yes."

* * *

They make their way to the designated Zone; Kurt has the instructions committed to memory _–_ _Zone 7 travelator -main elevator to Floor 401- report to Studio SS –_  and chants them quietly under his breath as they cross the main zone entryway. People pass quickly, to and from zone doorways, all seemingly sure of where they're going.

Kurt stills as his eyes search for the entrance to Zone 7. Between the doorways, myriad screens are lit up with ads for streams and drinks and Counter-comforts; he'd forgotten just how big it was out here –like being on the floor, but on a  _much_  grander scale. Kurt hasn't been here since his eighteenth birthday, when his Dad said goodbye and watched him leave for his first day on the floor. The occasion is no less bittersweet this time, and he feels the same excitement -tinged nerves twist in the pit of his stomach.

As he turns, looking for the right entrance but finding them numbered out of sequence, his eyes dart uselessly around the vast space. When his eyes start following the news stream tickertape that scrolls around the vestibule on a loop it makes his head spin. He closes his eyes and absently reaches for Dave's arm to steady himself before pulling it back with a little flush of embarrassment.

"Sorry, I just..."

"It's right there," Dave points across the hall and offers him a reassuring smile. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Kurt nods and takes a breath, feeling some of the tension ease as he lets his eyes focus only on Dave. "Now I am."

* * *

It takes almost twenty minutes for them to find the entrance to  _Zone 7_  and ride the moving walkway towards the final elevator that takes them to Studio SS. They're mostly silent, on the way, but it's a comfortable silence; they've already said everything that needs to be said. Today is about just getting to  _be_  together, like they used to be, sharing stupid jokes and secret smiles, walking too close together and touching wherever they can for as long as they can safely get away with. As they glide along, Dave enjoys just watching Kurt take it all in; small smile ever-present, blue eyes turning green under the suddenly softer, golden-hued light.

When they reach the elevator, they stand close, shoulder to shoulder, and they're alone but for the Counter on the display panel, dressed in a smart black and white uniform, who greets them with a friendly faux-smile,  _"Which floor, please?"_

Dave smiles and nudges Kurt in encouragement, urging him to give the order – he's been repeating _floor four-oh-one, four-oh-one_  under his breath throughout their journey – but instead he turns his head and blinks anxiously at Dave, solemn-faced and pale against the shiny black mirrored surface of the elevator, tonguing his lips before saying, "I can't actually be doing this."

"What? You  _are_  doing this," Dave assures him with another little nudge.

"I can't. I don't think I want to anymore. They'll buy back my ticket, right?"

"Kurt." Dave keeps his voice even as he watches the slight look of panic fall over his boyfriend's usually composed features.

"What? No, this is...too much, too soon...it's a lot of pressure to put someone under, you know? I mean, I'm grateful, don't think I'm not grateful, David, but I think that—"

"Kurt, baby," Kurt looks at him then, as wide-eyed and earnest as the day they met, and it makes his heart swell in his chest. He smiles. "You're babbling."

"I'm babbling. I know. I'm sorry."

Dave shifts so they're standing side by side again, close enough that he can feel Kurt tremble against him. And shit, he's already failing at his only task for the day. "Hey," he whispers, resting a cautious hand on the small of Kurt's back, allowing his thumb to stroke back and forth a few times before pulling away, "don't be sorry. Just quit babbling and tell the nice Counter where to take us."

"Okay." Kurt smiles, reluctantly but reassuringly, back at him, eyes closing briefly as he takes a calming breath and smoothes his hand over the front of his shirt. "Floor four-oh-one, please."

* * *

Four hundred floors up, everything seems different.

Kurt's taken by the contrast between his own floor and this one; the wide, open sprawl of the landing, the sheer height of the shiny white – not  _black_  – inactive vis-walls that line their path. The floor feel soft and bouncy underfoot and Kurt feels his jaw drop when he sees that they're walking on an actual, honest-to-god, strip of red carpet that leads towards the studio entrance. The whole place seems lighter, brighter, than the other floors and he swears that even the  _air_  feels different; fresher, more oxygenated here than it was before.

"That's just the effect I have on you," Dave offers with a teasing smile.

"You might be right." He says, feeling re-energized after his earlier fit of self-doubt. "Either way, I kinda like it."

When he'd imagined this moment – and he had, a million times or more – it wasn't ever quite like this. He was always alone, for starters. But not now. As he soaks in this glamorous, wondrous place, with his _boyfriend_ by his side, he realises it's like everything else he's experienced with Dave so far; the reality always betters the fantasy.

When they reach the studio's entrance, Kurt hits the panel by the door, emblazoned with the twinkling blue and gold  _Star_   _Shot_  logo, and they wait. A pretty blonde Counter appears on the screen after a beat; smiling sweetly and welcoming them into the Green Room. As they cross the threshold, a Guard stands with what looks like an encoder in her hand as the real-life version of the Counter they've just seen, not smiling nearly so sweetly, sits behind a large white desk and asks, "Which one's Hummel?"

"That'd be me!" He says, too brightly, raising his hand.

"Face the lens behind me and place your left hand on the desk." She intones, flatly.

Kurt complies and sees his own Counter appear on the screen in front of him, golden  _Star Shot_  ticket in hand, wearing the matching gold pants he picked out especially to compliment the show's logo. He turns and smiles at Dave, a silent thank you, as the ever-multiplying rabble of butterflies flap in his stomach. He flinches when he feels a slight burning sensation on his hand and looks to see the letter 'T' etched onto his skin, surrounded by a black star logo. He draws his stinging hand up to his chest.

The woman moves her eyes towards Dave and hits an icon on the desk that clears the screen behind her. "Is this the friends and family allocation?"

"Yes," Kurt answers as Dave nods along.

"Hand, please."

She repeats the process and Dave's hand, too, is marked with the black star logo, this time surrounding the letter 'F'. "Um," Kurt feels his brows knit in concern, "these aren't permanent, are they?"

"No, they fade after about a month."

Kurt smiles hopefully at Dave, who looks nonplussed.

The blond woman continues, "Have either of you been before?"

"Here?" Kurt asks.

"To the edge." She says matter-of-factly.

Kurt emits an involuntary squeak of excitement as Dave looks at him, wide eyed with surprise, and they both shake their heads  _no_  at her. Kurt knew this would bring him close to the edge, but he didn't think he'd make it over the border until...maybe afterwards.

She motions to her left, "Then you'll have to pass through the scanner first before entering the green room." She offers a small, genuine smile. "Don't get too excited – there's no view from the holding areas. Good luck."

They follow her instructions and shuffle down a corridor made up of more expansive vis-walls, illuminated this time with silent images of previous  _Star Shot_  success stories; Rachel Berry and Mike Chang and Finn Hudson, as well as the judges themselves.

Dave nudges Kurt's elbow and holds his tattooed hand aloft. "A vacation  _and_  a souvenir."

" _Matching_  souvenirs." Kurt corrects with a giddy giggle. "But what does the 'T' stand for?"

"Hmm," Dave muses with a lopsided smile as they reach the guarded doorway, lowering his voice to a murmur, "tasty, maybe?"

"It stands for talent." The man at the doorway in the  _Star Shot Staffer_ t-shirt asserts as they approach. Kurt feels his cheeks begin to burn.

"Oh, thanks."

"And yours," he looks Dave briefly up and down, "stands for friend or family or...whatever's more fitting."

The staffer stands aside, allowing them to enter through the scanner, which chimes 'all clear' and lets them pass. Kurt casts his eye over the span of the room. His first though is that it's big. And  _white_ , too, rather than green. The back wall houses the usual vendors and the room is framed by a neat row of stylishly uncomfortable looking chairs. The red carpet is, sadly, gone and the room is mostly bare, not at all as glamorous as the reception hall might have led him to believe, but he's less concerned with that right now than he is about the fact that the room is already partially filled with other hopeful pedallers, just like him; his competition. He looks worriedly at Dave who offers a small smile and nudges his elbow in an attempt at encouragement. This is still...surreal, for both of them.

"What do we do now?" Dave asks the staffer.

He shrugs. "You wait."

"How long?" Kurt queries, eyeing the chrono on the wall that reads  _12:17_. He knows that the show streams live between eight and nine every night.

The man shrugs again, "However long it takes," and glances at the pad he's clutching in his hands before walking away.

* * *

"What should we do?" Kurt asks him, hopeful, as they stand at the periphery of the room, raising his voice a little to be heard over the din.

The room is fucking  _noisy_ ; people are singing scales, dancing pirouettes, soliloquizing and otherwise making the most amount of noise humanly possible.

"I don't know. I guess we wait." Dave shrugs. He kind of thought it would be more like his Pro-Virtua try-out; that there'd be a schedule, some kind of order. "You wanna practice scales or...?"

"Not really. It's a little..." Kurt eyes the room warily "...raucous."

"Let's grab a seat, then. It's gonna be a long day. Let me get us some drinks." Dave offers with a smile as they walk into the throng. "You should probably keep your throat lubricated, right?"

Kurt laughs and elbows him in the ribs as they make their way through the assembled wannabes, toward a pair of free seats near the back. "How come everything you say manages to sound  _dirty_ , David Karofsky?"

And for a minute, he could almost imagine that they're back in the refectory, back on their floor, only on a really busy day.  _Almost_ , but he pushes that thought aside because it serves no purpose. All they have left is  _now_. He licks his lips and leans in close to Kurt so he can be heard without shouting, letting his lips brush ever so slightly against the shell of his ear as he speaks, "Because you, Kurt Hummel, have a dirty, dirty mind."

Dave pulls back and laughs when he sees Kurt blushing again at that, but notes with a thrill that he doesn't deny it.

When they reach their seats, Dave stays standing and asks, "Vita-water?"

"Very berry, please." Kurt nods with a playful smile as he sits.

"Oh, I thought you'd given that up...on the grounds of public safety?"

"Mine or yours?"

Dave smirks. "Both, I think."

Kurt's eyes sparkle against the golden light overhead as he looks up at Dave, crossing long legs. "Hmm, maybe I don't mind a little danger, every now and again."

With that, Dave has to turn away, has to make himself move towards the vendors, before he's tempted to do something they'll both regret.

He stands for longer than necessary, collecting himself, before he makes his selections and turns back towards Kurt. When he looks at him, he's slightly disappointed to find that he's not looking back at him, but that his eyes are fixed elsewhere instead. Dave follows his gaze east and feels his breath catch when he eyes the couple passionately making out in the corner.

"Watch it, white boy!"

Just as distracted as Kurt obviously had been, Dave bumps into a short, black girl, dropping one of the plastic water bottles between them, narrowly missing the toe of her sneaker.

"Shit," Dave mutters, "I'm sorry."

She huffs angrily and marches past him as he picks up the bottle and pushes his way back towards Kurt, who greets him with narrowed eyes and a not-so-subtle nod in the direction of the kissing couple. They share a questioning look and Dave sits, silent for a minute, both of them trying and failing not to stare.

"No alarms?"

Kurt shrugs and gives him a wary smile. "Guess not."

"That's...interesting." Dave places his hand tentatively atop Kurt's and lets his thumb stroke softly across the little nubs of his knuckles. They share eager smiles and a thrill of relief runs through Dave's body. Of course this is allowed; they're at the fucking  _edge_. They can do whatever they want. It serves only to strengthen his resolve, to justify his decision that this was the right thing to do, that this can be - will be - their future.

He tightens his grip on Kurt's hand and glances at the chrono on the wall as he wills himself to relax. It's only  _12:33_. There's a long day ahead and, thank fuck, it's only just begun.

* * *

Hours pass. Kurt knows his song inside-out; he doesn't need to practice, like some. He wants to save his voice for when he really needs it. So instead of joining the rabbling group rehearsal, he sits pressed close to Dave, enjoying the open affection they can share, here; hands resting on thighs and fingers entwined, no threat or thrill of alarms or penalties, as they pass the time watching the other hopefuls, inventing crazy back stories and hidden talents for each of them in turn, talking nonsense about the floor, the future and the fashion choices of Kurt and his Counter.

"What? They'd look great on me. "

"Oh, I know that, but still, gold pants? Kinda flashy for your first time out there."

"Anything's flashier than penguin pajamas."

"Shut up. You know how much I like those PJs."

Kurt smiles and hooks his arm through Dave's, petting the soft hairs on his forearm, letting his fingers drift down to trace the spiked outline of the temporary tattoo on his hand. He knows Dave's keeping their conversation purposely light and he appreciates it. He can't afford to have puffy, tear-stained eyes today. He lets his head drop and rest against Dave's sturdy shoulder, nerves thrumming only in the background of his mind as he revels in just  _this_ ; being with Dave again, getting to touch and be touched without the fear of being found out. It's nice and, despite everything else they've shared, everything else he still wants to share with Dave, Kurt's glad that they got to have a last little taste of what could be – what  _will_  be, one day – regardless of whatever else might happen today.

His calm fades, replaced by those fluttering belly-butterflies, as a commotion stirs near the entrance. The chatter and hum of singing-stretching-stressing suddenly dissipates. Another guy and girl appear, dressed in  _Star Shot_  logoed t-shirts and join the man already standing in the corner. They talk among themselves, all business, as everyone assembled watches expectantly.

"D'you know what's going on?" Dave whispers, raising both perfectly arched eyebrows in question.

Kurt shakes his head and tightens his grip on his boyfriend's hand.

"It's the second wave of pre-show." The girl in the next seat offers quietly, a note of excitement in her voice.

Before he can thank her, the three  _Star_   _Shot_  staffers make their way through the crowd and the new guy, not the one who ushered them inside, is standing right in front of him. "You're up," he says going back to tapping on his pad, "follow me."

The girl from before, the one that Dave bumped into, appears from nowhere and jabs the staffer angrily in the arm with an outstretched finger. "Hell no, Mikey! You know I been here all week and this little first timer bitch comes in and barely has to wait a day?"

He looks at her with a jaded kind of sympathy. "You know I don't make the decisions, 'Cedes."

She gives him the finger in reply and storms back out of sight.

Kurt feels more amused than offended by her insult, too thrilled to have been  _chosen_ , as he stands, tugging Dave along with him. "Um," he motions towards Dave, who quickly drops his hands to his sides, "he's with me..."

The staffer sighs. "Hand."

Kurt feels a knot of tension wind in his chest. "What?"

"Your hand." He speaks  _at_  Dave with slow condescension and waves the back of his hand in front of him. "Let me see."

Kurt's feels slight relief, despite this guy's lack of manners, when it becomes clear that he's asking to see the tattooed logo rather than passing judgement on their former hand-holding.

"Right," he nods as Dave holds out his hand to show the tattoo, and turns away, "both of you, follow me."

They're led to another room, darker this time, with the usual blackened vis-walls, and empty but for the woman inside. The staffer that led them in steers Kurt bodily towards a sparkly gold criss-cross on the floor and leaves Dave standing off to the side. Suddenly, his nerves are back with noxious vengeance and he feels like he just might start throwing up those butterflies that have taken up residency in his stomach.

He looks towards Dave for comfort and, sure enough, it's there; even in the strained smile he shoots Kurt's way.

"What are you?" The woman asks, without preamble.

"Um," he takes a deep, calming breath and smiles at her. "I'm Kurt Hummel."

"Not who are you,  _what_  are you?" She says with a barely concealed eye roll. "Do you sing, act, dance,  _juggle_...?"

"Oh, I sing." He nods with a little self-conscious huff of laughter. "I guess I can dance, a little, though it's been a while, and I'd love to act, but—"

And, as she cuts him off, he knows it's because he's rambling again, but seriously, this is beyond bizarre. "Let's just call you a  _performer_."

"Okay. Performer." He aims another smile at Dave, eyebrows raised in giddy apprehension. "I like that."

"Great," she says flatly, eyes on the pad in her hands, "and who do you like?"

"Um..." His mind is veering horribly between full-to-bursting and utterly blank.

"Singers.  _Performers_. Who do you like on stream? Who would you say  _inspires_  you?" And this time Kurt takes a second to be impressed because she managed to ask the question with both condescension  _and_  disinterest.

"Okay. Well, I love Rachel Berry, and I've—"

"Okay. Look into the lens and say something like 'I'm Kurt Hummel, I'm a performer and Rachel Berry is my inspiration'," she deadpans.

He does as he's told, aiming his most winning smile straight into the eye of the lens, the Counter-cameraman smiling back at him from behind the blinking red eye. "I am Kurt Hummel and I hope to be, one day, a great  _performer_. I love Rachel Berry, her voice, her story..."

"Great." She cuts him off, tapping on her pad and offering a practiced smile without looking him in the eye. "Now, tell me about a tragic event in your life."

"I'm sorry?" He asks, blinking at her in disbelief, smile starting to fade.

"A personal tragedy?" She sighs. "I mean, I have your profile here, so I can tell you what to say if you want, but it's better if you can give information organically rather than having to be prompted all the time."

"Oh, I..." he swallows, unsure what to make of that, and looks towards Dave again, whose arms are crossed defensively in front of him, brow furrowed in concern, "I lost my mother...when I was eight."

"And how did that affect you?"

"Well, obviously, it was...hard."

She looks up at him then, lips sloping towards a frown. "Please, look at the lens, not at me."

"Oh," Kurt says, mouth dry as he follows her order, and he should have known this would happen – he's watched enough of this show to know how much they love an underdog story, a triumph over tragedy, but still. He doesn't want to exploit his past like that. And it's really not the kind of thing he's comfortable discussing with a surly stranger.

"And so you're doing this for her?" She prompts.

"Well, in part, I guess."

"She wanted to perform too, right?"

He takes a breath and tries his best to relax. This is all part of it. He knows that. And if he wants to be a star he knows he needs a thick skin, but he just  _really_  doesn't want to be dead-mom-guy. He wants to make it on his own merit, not on the back of some pseudo-inspirational back story. "I'd rather not talk about it, if that's okay?"

She pulls her lips into a tight line and taps furiously on her pad before looking back up and cocking her head at him. "Why else are you doing this?"

He smoothes an unseen strand of hair back off his creased forehead and forces the smile back onto his face. "To have a better life. To make my own choices about what I do and...who I'm with." He can feel Dave's eyes on him and he casts a quick glance to the side, sees him smiling at that. "To live my dreams."

"And what are your dreams?"

"To sing—"

"Ooh." She makes a pained sound and wrinkles her nose like she's just smelled bad food.

"What?"

"That's a little narrow. Think bigger."

"Okay...um...I guess I just want to  _perform_. I want to love what I do and," he pauses, laughs at himself, but the words from the  _Star Shot_  enrolment notice he received come back to him –  _be_   _open and honest_ \- and he articulates the thought anyway, "be loved for doing it."

There's a pause as she taps on the pad again and he looks at Dave, seeking approval. He's rewarded with a cute smile and a little thumbs up before his attention is drawn back to his interviewer. "Did you find it difficult on the floor?"

He laughs again, nervously, and curls his palms into fists as he feels them grow moist with sweat. "Who doesn't?"

"Is that why you broke the rules?"

Dave steps forward with an angry interjection, "I don't think that's—"

The staffer holds up her hand to silence him, expression still unperturbed. "I'll have you removed if you disrupt the process."

Kurt looks at him, trying to keep his smile in place. "It's fine, David." He turns back to the lens, to the staffer beside it, and sucks in a long breath before answering her question. "I'm not proud of breaking the rules, but...when you're in love with someone, when you want to be with them, it's hard to not express that. Physically."

It's all he can think of to say on the matter and, well, so be it if they don't like it. It's the truth.

"And do you think you're Dream Stream material, despite  _all_  the breaches?"

That question throws him a little – the way she stresses the word  _all_ , like it's an accusation – because, well, he never thought his worthiness was in doubt. "I...yes. I...don't think I really did anything wrong."

There's a stretch of silence as the staffer's fingers fly across the face of her pad and she presses on her ear-bud, mutters mono-syllabic words into her mouthpiece. Kurt looks towards Dave with puppy-dog eyes and he's met only with a concerned smile, a silent question which he nods in response to.

"All done." She looks him in the eye for the first time since he arrived and smiles a little too brightly. "Now, turn right as you exit and wait in holding area C. Your time slot is 8.45."

"That's it? Don't I have to sing?"

"Not yet."

His feels his shoulders start to slip in relief that this part's over, though he's afraid to let himself relax until he knows he hasn't misunderstood. "But I'm...on the show?"

She pauses, looks up and him and gives him a different version of that same practiced smile. "You'll get to sing on the show. And look happy - you got the closing spot." She motions toward the door on their right, marked simply 'SS'.

He and Dave eye each other warily as Dave takes a symbolic step forward, "Do I...?"

She sighs again, obviously aggravated by their lack of familiarity with the  _process_ , and points towards the exit. "Yes, you too, now  _please_ , holding area C."

Kurt smiles and lets relief flood his system. He did it. His dream is right there for the taking if only he can reach far enough. He feels his confidence renewed by the timeslot he's been given – these shows  _always_  end on a high – and he's sure, now, the worst part's over.

Well, almost the worst part. But as Dave takes his hand and they shuffle, together, towards the holding area, he tries his best to keep that thought at bay.

* * *

The holding room is small and bright.  _Too_  bright, really. It's about the size of the main room of his pod, but the walls don't look like vis-walls; they're a flat white, lit from both the top and the bottom all the way around, and they look like they'd be almost soft to touch.

Dave notices that there are no screens, no sound at all, just a plush, padded bench on one side and chrono showing pale green digits – a display of 19.33 too large for the size of the room, designed simply to be  _watched_  – on the other. When they step inside, the door clicks loudly behind them, a red bolt symbol indicating that the door security lock is in place.

Dave swallows hard as Kurt turns around and looks at him, skin perfectly pale in the stark light; eyes glassy, more blue than green again, lips slightly parted to speak. He looks beautiful, and Dave hits his mental pause button; freeze frames the moment so that he can remember this face, this moment, for however long he needs it to cling to.

"This is it," Kurt says, licking his smiling lips in what seems like slow motion. Dave's eyes drift to the sweep of his tongue, the shiny trail it leaves behind on too-pink upturned lips.

"That was...pretty intense."

"I know. I'm glad it's over. I didn't really think about that part," he laughs, bemused, and lays a hand experimentally against the wall before leaning back against it, "at least if I have to come back I know what to expect."

"You won't have to come back." Dave protest, still standing in the same spot by the door.

Kurt shrugs. "I might. You didn't make it, your first time out." With that, Kurt's face falls, like he instantly regrets what he just said.

"Or my second," Dave offers with a smile.

"I'm sorr—"

"Ssh, third time lucky, right?"

Kurt nods dumbly back at him. They stare at each other for a moment, for the first time since they met, Dave doesn't know just what to say to him. Not with words, anyway.

"So, should I give the old song one last whirl?" Kurt's shoulders slump uncharacteristically and he pushes his lips into a pout. "I mean, I know the words back and front, but what if I freeze out there?"

"You won't," Dave says, taking a small step forward.

"But how do you know?" Kurt asks, spark of mischief returning to his eyes.

"Trust me, I'm a smart ass," Dave affects indifference while taking another step towards his boyfriend. "I just know these things."

Kurt pushes himself off the wall, then, and grabs Dave's hands, both of them, entwining their fingers, pulling him close. He offers a shaky smile and looks at Dave with eyes that say a thousand things his lips can't, won't – not now – and Dave returns it, as Kurt presses himself closer still against Dave, bringing their bodies flush, chest to chest.

"Kurt, wha—"

"Have you noticed that," Kurt brings their interlaced fingers up into the small space between them, in the centre of their chests, "that we've been doing  _this_ all day and there are no alarms sounding?"

Dave smiles and blinks back at the sight of Kurt; eyes alight, biting on his lower lip for a beat before he can respond. "I hadn't actually noticed," he shrugs casually, like just this is no big deal.

"Do you think—"

"Kurt."

"Should we...?" He asks, and fuck, Dave can feel every vein, every pulse point in his body pounding with  _want_.

"Kurt, what if—"

"No?" He asks and Dave can tell he's not teasing, now; he wants permission.

And isn't today is about having a little taste of what was alongside a taste of what could be? Isn't it about taking what they can  _while_  they still can? Before he can rationalise his actions further, his lips are locking fervently with Kurt's, pulling back a little when he realises he can, because there are no alarms or red flashing lights; no guards on their way to separate them.

They let the kiss grow slow and languid, because for once they  _can_ , and Dave savors the soft heat of Kurt's willing mouth; the remnant of the fruity flavor that lingers there, the gentle sweep of that eager tongue. He lets his own tongue pass over the plump planes of Kurt's lips, sucking on them in turn, letting his teeth graze the flesh with each tender tug, eliciting new and encouraging sounds from Kurt as he does.

He lets his mouth trail lower, peppering wet kisses over Kurt's chin, following the soft line of his jaw, and Kurt's breath hitches before he speaks, "Remember what you said...the other day..."

Dave can barely bring himself to break the contact as he breathes, "I don't remember my name right now," and it's true; he could be anyone, anywhere or nowhere, all that exists right now  _this_.

"You wanted to," Kurt twists his fingers into the short curls of Dave's hair, tugging gently, fingertips kneading his scalp while pushing him towards the column of his throat, "mark me."

"Mmm... _fuckyes,_ " Dave mumbles as Kurt's Adam's apple works temptingly against his lips.

"Do it," he breaths, and tugs Dave's head up so their eyes can meet. The sensation coupled with the sight - lips red and kiss-swollen, blue eyes blown black with desire - almost ends him right there as Kurt whimpers and yanks at the neck of his t-shirt with his free hand, exposing a perfectly untouched expanse of skin, " _please_."

"No," Dave mouths and kisses Kurt on the lips again, harder, his movements feeling more assured that they ever have before. The memories of their conversation from the other day come flooding back through a lust-haze in Dave's mind and he wants it too. All of it. "Not there."

He runs only slightly shaking hands down Kurt's sides and rests them on each of his hips, lips once again leaving that mouth to trail down and bite his chin, to tongue that delicate cleft that he can only barely feel with the tip of his tongue, and down again over his bobbing Adams apple. He kisses down further still, over his t-shirt, mouthing through the cotton at the  _suggestion_  of what's underneath and Dave lets himself sink to his knees, rubbing circles with his thumbs over the jut of Kurt's sharp hipbones; nuzzling up and under the soft hem of that t-shirt to reveal warm, taught, trembling skin and latching his hungry mouth onto the spot just above his hip, sucking gently at first, pulling it into his mouth and against his teeth before worrying at it, alternating between sucking and laving at the stretched skin, ending with a soft bite that elicits a guttural and gorgeous groan from Kurt, another detail to memorize, before pulling back to admire his handiwork.

His eyes are pulled quickly away from the burgeoning bruise, though, when he notices the hard line protruding through the thin fabric of Kurt's sweatpants, just inches from his face; the outline clear, the evidence of his effect on Kurt  _literally_  staring him in the face. Dave looks up at him, hands still planted firmly on his hips, to see Kurt staring back down at him, eyes heavy with arousal and shiny-wet lips hanging slightly agape.

"Uh, you have to stop that or I'm going to..." Kurt lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes against the sight. "I'll make a mess."

Bolstered by the sight, Dave stays where he is and asks, "How long do we have?" He knows he just looked the chrono when they entered the room but he's since lost all concept of time.

"I can't..." Kurt says, hand still curled in Dave's hair as he loosens and tightens his grip in consideration, fingers undulating against Dave's scalp. He licks his lips. "I can't, David," he attempts to object with a laugh but it comes out pained and plaintive. "I kinda have to go onstage in about thirty minutes and there's nothing here to...clean up with."

"Then let me...?" Dave asks and presses his mouth against the straining fabric of Kurt's pants, groaning at the initial contact – the hard, heady, hot feel it of it so close – hooking his thumbs under the waistband and edging them further down over obscenely sharp hipbones. He mouths against the line of Kurt's erection, harder this time, and he feels it throb deliciously against his lips, "No mess this way," he says, tonguing the cloth briefly as he looks up pleadingly at his boyfriend.

" _Ohdeargod_  are you serious?" he asks and Dave nods in response, letting his lips ghost over the covered shaft, feeling it twitch in response to the contact - and fuck, all that's going through his mind right now is  _pleasepleasepleaseplease -_  he's never been so hungry for anything in his entire life. With that, Kurt's resolve appears to crumble, he throws his head back momentarily and moans, "Yes, okay, fuck,  _yes_ ," as Dave eagerly slides the pants low enough to allow his erection to escape its confines.

Dave's instantly taken aback by the sight of Kurt's flushed cock and finds himself just looking at it; he's felt it press against his thigh before, against his hip, against his own arousal, he's felt it pulse and spurt in his hand but he's never  _seen_  it like this. And he's never tasted it. Kurt's cock is long and slim and incongruously straight. He's never seen the dark pink blush of the head, or the tiny dark slit as it leaks sweet-tasting precome onto his tongue...

 _Oh_.

Before he knows it, Dave has taken a tentative lick at the moisture pooled there, and he closes his eyes and groans at the intimacy of it, before pressing his lips against the delicate skin, cautiously painting them with the clear liquid proof that Kurt's need for this is just as great as his own.

The motion makes Kurt gasp and bite down on his bottom lip. "I've thought about this," Dave manages to say, breath husky, as he looks briefly up to lock eyes with a still-stunned Kurt - blue eyes shining bright, skin flushed pink and utterly fucking beautiful against the austerity of the white backdrop - as he punctuates his words with closed mouth kisses up the rosy shaft - "so many" - he licks from root to tip - "fucking" - he swirls his tongue around the ridge of the head - "times."

Kurt whimpers in response, both fists curled tight in Dave's hair, now, although just resting there, not pushing or guiding, even as Dave enthusiastically sucks the length into his mouth – and it seems suddenly bigger than it did in his hand; longer and thicker, silky smooth, unnervingly soft in its hardness and the taste — fuck, Dave knows he'll replay this moment in his mind for the rest of his life. It might be the only real taste of Kurt Hummel he ever gets and, with that, he's faced with a sudden moment of clarity. It all suddenly makes  _sense_  and he knows why this isn't allowed on the floor; why would he ever pedal at all if he could just do  _this_  instead? He encircles the base of Kurt's dick with his thumb and forefinger, letting his other fingers pet haphazardly at the wispy hair around it, and draws his mouth into a tight 'o', over his teeth, as the length slides all the way into his mouth. He presses the flat of his tongue against the underside as he draws back and repeats the motion with more pressure.

Kurt's keening, moaning quiet obscenities above him, as Dave loosens his grip on the other hip and lets his hand roam to the curved swell of his ass, grasping and squeezing and using the leverage to pull Kurt further into his mouth.

Kurt is simultaneously inside him and all around him. He tastes the salty-musky-sweet flavour of him, can feel the gentle thrust of his hips, can hear every breath, every heartbeat, every moan of pleasure that he's  _causing_  and, fuck, when he manages to open his eyes, he can see it all too; Kurt's head hanging limp as he gazes down at him with barely opened eyes, panting and mouthing half-words between chewing on his abused lower lip. He's used to hearing Kurt, but not having him; seeing but not touching, touching but not seeing, having but not hearing anything but the sound of an alarm and the pounding of his own heart in his chest. But this? This is  _everything_. This is the whole Kurt Hummel experience and if he never sees or hears or tastes of feels anything ever again, at least he'll always have this.

The sensation overwhelms him, and he gives Kurt's ass one last squeeze before pulling his hand away and down, towards the suddenly painful weight of his own neglected erection straining against the bare pressure of his clothes. One hard press through the fabric is all it takes and he comes, warm and sticky-wet, in his pants with Kurt's dick between his lips; he moans around it and tongues furiously at the slit as he rides out his own orgasm. That seems to be all that Kurt can take as he pulls tighter on Dave's hair and whines "I'm...I'm..." before Dave can feel the shaft spasm and release; he can feel the hot spurt over his tongue and part of him wants to pull back just to  _see_  it happen, but he knows he can't. Instead, he keeps his lips locked firmly around the crest of the head and swallows, lapping slowly at the last few drops he can feel leaking onto his tongue, savouring the taste before pulling back and reluctantly releasing Kurt's softening cock from his mouth.

Kurt extracts his fingers from Dave's hair with a little whine and slumps against the wall, pulling his pants back up and over the sensitised flesh. His chest is still heaving, breath still coming hard, as he looks down at Dave with a scandalised smile on his face. "I can't believe..."

Dave sits back on his heels and returns his smile, thumbing the corner of his mouth and licking his lips. "No mess."

Kurt laughs and slides down the smooth surface of the wall, legs folding under him so he's face to face with Dave. His eyes trail slowly down his body and land on the dark strain spreading over his crotch. "No mess, huh?"

"Well..." Dave shrugs and wiggles his hips a little, tugging on the crotch of his sweats, but feeling too blissed out to do much else, "that's kinda your fault."

Kurt harrumphs and leans forward, taking Dave's face in both hands and looking at him with a wild intensity. "Thank you, David," he says softly and kisses him squarely on the lips. Dave closes his eyes and lets Kurt lead the kiss, the  _last_  kiss, as reality creeps slowly back into his consciousness.

"This is what it'll be like, out there." Dave says eventually, tugging his lips into a melancholy smile.

Kurt strokes the hair at the nape of Dave's neck and kisses him again before he responds, "Only if you're with me."

"I'll get there as fast I can." They look at each other with matching sad smiles and Dave knows he just has to say it, the final thing he's been avoiding. "But I...I don't expect you to wait for me. Y'know, there'll be other—"

"Ssh," Kurt stops him, raising his hand to press a finger gingerly against Dave's lips, then replacing it with his thumb, letting his fingers slide to rest on the curve his jaw. "I'll be waiting for you." Kurt replaces the pad of his thumb with his lips, then, and kisses Dave once more, slow and soft. As he pulls back with a little sigh there are tears in his eyes. "Besides, I might not even—"

"Don't you dare."

"What?" Kurt sniffs and attempts a smile.

"This is it. You have to do this, okay? It's not optional, Hummel." Dave rests his forehead against Kurt's and tries his best to speak with conviction. "This is the best thing that'll ever happen to you."

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

Dave sighs and feels his heart clench at not just those words, but the lack of delay before Kurt uttered them. He soothes his thumb across the line of his boyfriend's cheekbone. "Well, this is the only way to make sure we can be together."

They sit there on the floor of the little white room, arms wrapped around each other in a loose embrace, fingers and lips lingering where they were never able to linger before.

"What time is it?"

Dave can't tell if they'd been there for five minutes or five hours. He looks up towards the chrono. "It's eight-fifteen."

Kurt leans his back against the wall with a playful smile. "I wish we had time for me to...reciprocate." He wiggles his eyebrows, comically, "I think my throat could use some lubrication."

Fuck, does Dave wish they had  _time_. "You'll just have to owe me one. Next time, Hummel."

"Next time." Kurt nods and stretches his legs out in front of him, wiggling his hips to readjust. "I owe you everything forever, now, anyway. Remember?"

"Don't think I won't collect." Dave says and stands, wincing a little at the cold, sticky-wet mess he can feel between his legs, turning towards the chrono to hide the tears he can feel welling in his eyes.

* * *

"Kurt Hummel?" The door clicks open and a doe-eyed redhead pokes her head inside. "I'm Emma, the talent liaison."

"Hi," Kurt smiles, and stands of still-shaky legs. The butterflies are back doing battle in his stomach, though he's disarmed slightly when Emma appears to be almost as nervous as he is.

"Are you...ready?" She asks, taking a small step into the room.

He's as composed as he can be, given the situation and the parting gift he received from Dave. Kurt looks at Dave whose sad golden eyes belie the enthusiastic smile he has plastered on his face. He tries to mimic that forced enthusiasm with his voice as he replies, "As I'll ever be!"

"Great!" Emma beams at them both. "Now, in just a sec, we'll go out on set and your... _friend_  can watch on the monitors while you perform."

"Okay."

"Great." Dave nods at him, smile still in place.

"But first," she produces a small, square juicebox from a pouch on her belt and thrusts it at him, "drink this."

"Oh, no thank you." Kurt declines politely; he doesn't feel like those butterflies would welcome company in there, and besides, he wants to keep the taste of just  _Dave_  on his lips for as long as he can.

"Uh, yes thank you." She chuckles, over-amused as she mimics his reaction, but shoves the carton into his hand. "It's compulsory."

Kurt takes it in his trembling hand and eyes the small, neat print of the label. "What is it?"

"It's just Compliance." She says with shrug and a smile before elaborating when met with Kurt's still-questioning stare. "You can't go onstage without it sweetie; it'll stop you from puking in front of the judges. And I hear it's good for the vocal chords."

He relents – what choice does he have? - and takes a small sip of the sweet, pleasant-though artificial-tasting drink as Emma watches him intently. "Good boy! You might as well make the most of it," she winks a him, "you can't get this stuff where you come from."

They follow Emma out towards the  _Star Shot_  set, down a dark narrow corridor towards a small clearing that hosts a wall of screens, each displaying a different angle of the stage. He can see all four of the judges and his heart begins to thump harder in his chest. He takes another impulsive sip from the carton in his hand.

The floor underfoot vibrates slightly in time with the bass of the music playing in the near distance and there's an audible round of applause from the stage area. Kurt feels his head swim with the knowledge that he's next and he hears himself mutter, "I feel..."

Emma quickly turns towards him, big eyes wide. "That's okay, that's normal. It's just from the—" she points at the drink in Kurt's hand. "Now, Kurt, you go through that door to the stage. Walk out when you when you hear your name. You," she glances at Dave, her face fixed in a grin, and finishes with an upward inflection, "stay here with me."

"Can't I watch from there?" Dave asks, ever-hopeful.

"Oh, no," she shakes her head with zeal, "nuh-huh, nope."

Kurt turns towards Dave and there are so many things he wanted to say in this moment, he had just the right words planned, memorized, but now...his mind feels sluggish and...blank. So he does the only other thing he can think of, the most natural thing in the world, and leans forward to plant one last, chaste kiss on his boyfriend's lips.

* * *

He knows Emma sees it, but she doesn't say anything, just looks all bright-eyed toward the screens.

"I'll miss you," Dave says as he pulls back, hands lingering, reluctant to leave Kurt's grip.

"Me too," he whispers in response. Dave's glad to see that he's stopped trembling.

"You'll kill it out there." Dave tells him, because he  _knows_  he will.

Kurt's eyes look wired against the flickering light and he stumbles a little as he backs away. "I feel...kinda dizzy."

Dave smiles, maybe it's his nerves, the sensory overload. Maybe it's the sugar hit from the drink Emma gave him. Maybe it's from their last kiss; fuck, he feels dizzy, too.

"Boys," Emma turns towards them, gripping Kurt's arm, "it's time."

Dave's heart sinks as he watches Kurt turn and walk with Emma to the end of the corridor, towards the double doors that lead to the stage, leaving his old life, leaving  _him,_  behind. Here and now, it's a struggle to remember how he ever thought this was a good idea.

He yells after him, raising his voice so he'll be heard over the muffled noise from the stage, "That's just my effect on you, Hummel."

Kurt turns and nods, looking back at Dave through glazed eyes, with pained affection. "If I...if this goes well, I'll..."

"Ssh. I'll find you. Wherever. Whenever."

Kurt nods again, smiling sadly and Emma says something to Kurt that he can't quite hear _._  Dave only realises his hands are clenched into fists when he feels a cool wetness pour over one of them, and sees that the carton of Compliance somehow found its way into his hand. He swiftly squashes it flat against his palm and holds it behind his back before returning his gaze to his retreating boyfriend.

"I love-" Kurt begins to shout as he's shoved through the doors.

"Me too!" Dave yells, loud as he can manage, loud enough so he hopes he'll still be heard over the music playing, the Counters cheering.

And, just like that, however this turns out, he's back to having Kurt only from a distance; only through a screen.

He shifts back as Emma returns, still fucking smiling at him even as he feels a stray tear roll down his cheek, and, as he turns his blurry gaze towards the monitors to watch Kurt perform, he slides the little container into the waistband of his pants. He wants to hold onto anything real, any physical remnant of Kurt that he can, however trivial it might seem.


	21. Chapter 21

Kurt feels like he's gliding onto the stage, feet moving forward all of their own accord. The stage area is super-bright; the walls that surround him illuminated, top to bottom, with smiling Counters. As he enters from the left, he takes in the vis-wall that will be his backdrop; lit a brilliant blue, the golden Star Shot logo made up of a million tiny lights, each twinkling, in this moment, just for him.

This is what he's always wanted.

As he takes in the sight of his own Counter there – hair immaculately coiffed, dressed to the nines, big eyes shining the same azure blue as the lights all around it – he feels like he's looking into a mirror; that he  _is_  his Counter, smiling and poised and  _ready_.

"Step into the light honey, we won't bite." Sue Sylvester beckons him towards the golden cross in the centre of the stage and he glides towards it, stopping on his mark in front of the judges table; all four of them wearing expectant smiles, waiting.

Jesse St. James adds, "Not unless we  _really_  like you."

The assembled crowd of Counters whoop and laugh and Kurt feels his eyes readjust, focus, as he scans the sea of virtual faces; safe in the knowledge that every one of them is just like him.

His eyes are pulled back to the judges table, the nucleus of the room that seems too large and too small all at the same time, when Will Schuester starts to speak. "Welcome to the Star Shot stage!" He smiles and leans back in his oversized chair, "Why don't you tell us who you are and what you're going to do tonight."

The fugue feels like it clears, a little. He's ready for this.

He takes a deep breath before speaking, filling his lungs with the dizzying, purified air. This is what he wants. This is what Dave wants for him. He has to do this, for both of them.

And at that, right before he speaks, Dave's words come back to him and make him smile, because he  _knows_ ; it's not optional.

* * *

Dave doesn't know how to feel. A million thoughts race through his mind, each one clashing in horrible paradox with the last; he wants this for Kurt, he  _really_  does, but he's just kissed his boyfriend goodbye with no  _next time_  in sight and right now it's hard not to feel like he might've made the biggest mistake of his life.

He takes a step closer to the wall of screens, each one filled with its own striking image of Kurt Hummel – close-up front facing, waist-up in profile, full length from the judges' perspective – as he tentatively takes the stage _._  This is what he has to get used to, this watching from afar. And, even though Kurt can't be more than thirty feet away from where Dave's standing now, it already feels like he's so far out of his reach that he can't believe he just had him, right here, less than a minute before.

As he watches the close-up, Dave's relieved to see Kurt's look of terror is gone, replaced by a sure smile, and he feels his own features reluctantly twisting to mirror it despite the pain in his chest. He looks like he belongs there; on the stage, on the screen, and that, in itself, feels like both a comfort and a curse.

It's only when he watches – eyes still damp with longing – Kurt's lips begin to move that it registers with him that something's not quite right. He can't hear any music yet – there's no sound at all but for the distant electric drone of the virtual audience, hundreds of Counters still cheering and calling out in the midst of the event – but Kurt's lips are definitely moving, making no sound, and, when he manages to tear his gaze away from Kurt's close-up to look at one of the other displays, he sees that the judges' lips are moving in vain, too. He takes another step closer.

"I can't hear it," he tells the  _Star Shot_  staffer, an edge of unpredicted panic in his voice. He watches Kurt's smile grow wider, lighting up the display, as he looks demurely at his feet, mouthing a word that looks a lot it might be 'David', though he knows that's likely just his mind playing a cruel trick on him.

"Oh," Emma looks up at him, momentarily puzzled, before she tilts her head to the side and nods in realization, "that's because you need to wear your buds."

Dave lets out an anguished sigh and rubs the back of his temporarily tattooed hand across his already tear-dampened cheek. "I don't have any. I didn't know I was supposed to..." Even now, as he feels his lip begin to quiver again, the irony isn't lost on him; his words are almost exactly the same as Kurt's first ever words to him, seven months before on the floor. It feels like a lifetime ago. "Do you have any that I could—"

"No, sorry," she shakes her head, smiling regretfully, and pats him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Never mind. You can still watch."

And so he does. Now, it's all he can do.

* * *

"I'm Kurt Hummel and I'm going to sing for you." He feels like he should be trembling, shaking with nerves like he was at just the thought of this moment before, but his voice comes out calm and even, and when he glances down towards this hands they look sure and steady by his sides.

St. James leans forward on his elbows, licking his lips, and asks, "And what will you be singing for us?"

"A song called 'I Want to Hold Your Hand'," Kurt replies, voice never wavering. He's surprised at just how composed, how confident, he feels even in the colossal glare of the spotlight. He feels like he's floating. It feels good. There's not as much as a germ of a negative thought in his mind. He knows he can do this.

"Look at that face!" Sylvester says, turning to her left, towards Noah Puckerman. "He looks like a sweet little porcelain doll."

Puckerman nods, "A sweet song for a sweet guy, huh?"

Kurt doesn't know how to reply to that. The smile stays fixed on his face; they're not saying anything bad. Sweet is good, right?

"Would you like to dedicate the song to anyone...special?" Schuester asks with a slanting smile.

He nods his head, glancing down at his feet just to make sure they're still there, and answers simply, "David."

"Okay," Schuester nods and briefly eyes his fellow judges, "whenever you're ready."

The first few, delicate bars of the song begin to play, filling the space around him and he knows he's still smiling as he closes his eyes – this is no different from singing back at school, or in his pod, or even in the restroom on the floor; this is  _easy_. He focuses on the words, and he sings.

_**#Oh, I´ll tell you something** _ _**  
** _ _**I think you´ll understand** _ _**  
** _ _**When I say that something#** _

He lets his eyes flutter open as the words flow effortlessly, his gaze drifting over the bright sea of Counters in front of him.

_**#I wanna hold your hand** _ _**  
** _ _**Now let me hold your hand** _ _**  
** _ _**I wanna hold your hand#** _

His eyes sweep across the faces of the judges and he feels a small thrill of excitement when he sees that they are, all four of them, smiling back at him.

_**#Oh, please, say to me** _ _**  
** _ _**You´ll let me be your man** _ _**  
** _ _**and please, say to me** _

_**You'll let me hold your hand#** _

He imagines Dave backstage, smiling, too, and allows himself to move across the stage, voice swelling, arms rising up, hands clasping over his chest, over his heart.

_**#And when I touch you I feel happy, inside** _ _**  
** _ _**It´s such a feeling** _ _**  
** _ _**That my love** _ _**  
** _ _**I can't hide** _

_**I can't hide** _

_**I can't hide#** _

* * *

Dave folds his arms across his chest, as if it'll shield his heart from more of the same pain he already feels, and watches Kurt's lips move with grace as he sings – still slightly kiss-swollen and dark against the perfect pallor of his skin – picking out the shape of the words he knows and matching them to the barely-there muffled sounds echoing from the stage door.

"He's good." Emma says, like she's surprised, and he can see from the corner of his eyes that her head's turned towards him.

His eyes stay doggedly fixed on the screen, on  _Kurt_ , as he nods in agreement, "I know he is."

* * *

_**#I wanna hold your hand#** _

There's a roar of preset applause from the Counters on the display as the song fades to a close and the judges are clapping, smiling in his direction. He soaks it in, revels in it. They  _like_  him.

"That was beautiful, porcelain," Judge Sylvester is the first to speak, tapping her outstretched hand on the desk in front of her in contemplation. Kurt feels his face beam at the compliment, "At least, it was until I checked out about half-way through. I'm afraid you're a little more sugar than my diabetic sweet-tooth can handle, so I'm gonna bow out now and let these fine gentlemen see if they can't figure out a way to make you entertaining."

His mind struggles to absorb the meaning of her words and, before he can process exactly what she's said, Judge Schuester's already speaking.

"Kurt," Schuester smiles at him again, warm with sincerity, "it's obvious that you have an exceptional voice. Probably one of the best we've had this season. Countertenor, right?"

Kurt nods, hopefully.

"But...I think we've seen your kind of vocalist here before and it's just not...fresh. A year ago, maybe two years ago, but not now. The market for singers like you is so saturated right now—"

"Whose fault is that, Will?" St James asks with a critical smirk.

"—which is partially my fault," he acknowledges, "but I like to give the people what they want. And what they want is always changing. Right now, Kurt...honestly, I don't know, musically, what I'd do with you."

Schuester looks at him, almost disappointed. Kurt still feels like he's floating, but it seems like he's receding, now, into the lights. He feels the smile slide slowly from his face.

"But..." he tries to object, to fight, but he can't find the words to argue. A perfunctory optimism overrides his feeling of disappointment.

"I think I like you," Judge St. James speaks again, casting a slow, appraising eye over him. "You have this innocence, this sweetness..."

"Yeah," Puckerman joins in, leaning forward, looking at him intently, "I mean, I was kinda distracted by that - that was a sweet song, but those lips look like, well, like they'd look good doing something other than singing, am I right?" Puckerman's mouth twists into that same lascivious smile he's seen a hundred times on stream.

There's a tinny cheer of agreements from some the Counters.

St. James nods in fervent concurrence, "Oh but, wait – I think that sweetness is all an act, right? I hear you have a couple of two-twelve breaches under your belt."

Kurt's nerves spike for the first time since he arrived on stage. "I...that was..."

"More than a couple," Puckerman adds with an exaggerated wink.

"That's ok. We don't mind. Shows you've got passion, right?" St. James says with a charming smile. Kurt feels himself smiling back mechanically.

He feels...he's not sure how he feels. This isn't how it was supposed to go. But the judges are still smiling at him, so...

"I'm sure you have other talents, right? Other than singing?" Shuestster asks, encouraging.

Puckerman speaks again before he can answer. "Turn around."

Kurt looks blankly at him, befuddled by the request. "Um...?"

"Turn," He motions with his finger, "twirl. Let me see what you got."

He complies, turning slowly as his mind does the same.

"Nice," Jesse smiles knowingly at Puck before training his eyes on Kurt. "Y'know, Kurt, while you were singing, I read your profile and I couldn't help but picture you in these...forbidden, erotic scenarios. Doing more than just holding hands, if you know what I mean." There's a distant trill of laughter, of cat-calls and whoops, but it all sounds far away. "You have this innocent beauty, but...there's something sexy, too." He looks back towards Puckerman and flicks his head in Kurt's direction. "I think you could really do something with this kid. Look at those lips!"

"Singers are over, it'll be years, three at least, before we're ready for more singers, and by that time..."

"I could definitely see him on my stream. He'd fit right in, no doubt."

"I'd watch it."

"Heck, even I'd watch it."

"He was made for your stream, Puck."

Kurt feels besieged as the judges speak around him,  _at_  him; he feels small and distant, like he's watching it all from the safety of his pod and, when he reaches up to swipe absently at the tears he didn't know had begun to fall, he wishes that he was.

* * *

"What the fuck's going on? Why is he in fucking  _tears_?" Dave taps roughly at Emma's shoulder before she turns to answer him.

"He's just...overwhelmed. The judges like him. I think Mr Puckerman's making him an offer."

"Puckerman?"

"You have to be quiet now," Her eyes are wide with concern and she softens her voice to a whisper, "or I'll have to get the guard."

"What kind of offer?"

She shrugs her shoulders lightly, perma-smile faltering.

Dave feels his skin begin to crawl. He repeats, voice raised in fury, "What  _kind_  of offer?"

"A...generous offer?" She finally says, voice high and hesitant, as her eyes flit towards the screens; she sounds like she's asking rather than telling.

Dave emits a low growling sound and passes her as he moves towards the stage door.

* * *

"How about it Kurt," Puck says, suddenly serious amidst the gleeful judges, "we know you know how to make out, but do you know how to act?"

He's sure he can act, but...he feels like he's missing the point of the question. The fugue is back. He doesn't know how to respond. He looks down, away from the judges, and watches a tear fall from his face and land on his chest, swelling black against the pale grey t-shirt.

This is really him. This is really happening.

This is what he wanted, but this isn't what he wants. Is it?

"I...I just want to sing..."

"Listen, Kurt," Schuester says, tight smile tugging at his lips, "I know this is overwhelming. Take a minute to really think about this. Let's go to ad stream."

* * *

"Let me see him."

"No!" Emma chases after him, tugging on his arm as he approaches the door. He can hear voices, but they reverberate and fade before he can make out what they're saying.

"I just wanna hear what's going on, he's fucking crying and—"

Before he makes it through there's another hand, stronger, wrapping tightly around his bicep and, when he turns, tries to shake it off, he sees a guard lift a taser towards his temple and then, out of the blue, everything turns black.

* * *

When he sees Noah Puckerman approach him on the stage, Kurt feels fixed to the floor – like he does on his bike, when his feet are fastened, caught, in the straps of his pedals – like he can move, but can't  _go_  anywhere.

"Kurt," he begins to speak, hushed, as he lays a strong hand on Kurt's forearm, "I'm a businessman. And, unlike the other three here, I can work with you. I know you're not a prude because, well, I've seen your rap sheet, and you've got a cute ass, dick-sucking lips and...I can  _always_  use a twink like you, y'know? But I have a project in mind and it'll make you a star."

Kurt blinks back at him amidst the slew of...compliments.

"It's all just acting, at the end of the day. You'd be a professional. You need to remind yourself of that. This is just a stepping stone and, whether you're singing, dancing, acting, judging...no-one goes in at the top. We all had to suck a few dicks first."

"But," Kurt manages to coerce his lips to form some of the words he's been looking for, "my boyfriend..."

"You can't let anyone hold you back."

 _I don't ever want to hold you back._  Dave would never hold him back. He said so. "But Dave..."

"He can watch," Puckerman says with a shrug and an easy smile.

"If I can just talk to him, he's right—" Kurt looks pleading back at the stage door. Dave's watching this; wouldn't he say something, do something, if he wasn't okay with this?

Puckerman cuts him off, grip on his arm tightening, bringing Kurt's gaze right back to him. "Does he watch my stream?"

"Yeah."

"Do you?"

Kurt nods.

"Okay, so how awesome would it be, after a shitty day of pedalling, to come home and watch your boyfriend up there instead of some random guy?"

"I don't know, I'd—"

"It'd be fucking awesome. The next best thing to being with him."

Kurt remembers, dimly, watching Dave on stream during his Pro-Virtua tryout. He remembers with more clarity that he  _liked_  it. "It would?"

"Yeah it would." Puckerman nods in earnest and Kurt finds himself nodding along with him. "It's what he'd want, dude. Trust me. And  _you_  get the best of both worlds;  _you_  get all the pleasure you can handle and all you have to do is can close your eyes and think of...Dave."

"But—" Kurt starts to protest, but all he can think of is Dave; who gave up so much for this chance, who loves him and wants him to do this.  _You have to do this...it's not optional, Hummel._

" _Back in ten, nine, eight..."_

"Anything bad you can think of, we medicate against it." Puckerman says and removes his hand from Kurt's forearm. "We're back, it's now or never, okay? These guys –  _I_ – don't like rejection. Don't burn your bridges."

Kurt nods again and watches Judge Puckerman walk back to his seat. He feels like he's forgotten something, that he's  _forgetting_  something, lost in the glare of the spotlight. He doesn't feel good anymore. But he doesn't feel bad, either.

"So, Kurt Hummel," St James says as the music flares and fades and the Counters cheer around them. "Have you made your decision?"

Kurt tries to articulate how he feels. "I just...I thought...this isn't—"

"I'm gonna stop you right there." Sue Sylvester leans forward, eyes narrowed. "You want to be in the spotlight, princess? Who do you think powers that spotlight? Millions of people, that's who. Putting in an honest day of disgusting, sweaty pedal pushing. They would give anything, do anything, to have this chance you're being offered. And here you are, acting like you're too good to take an opportunity most of them would kill for."

She shakes her head in abject disgust.

"No, it' not like—"

"Maybe if he'd actually worked for the credits that brought him here, he'd feel a little different, huh?" St. James offers and, even through the miasma, that  _hurts_.

"You were gifted the credits to come here and you're willing to throw that gift away?" Schuester huffs with incredulity, "Maybe you do belong on a bike, Kurt. Because you don't seem very willing to step off it."

The Counters all around chant and cheer.  _"Do it! Do it! Do it!"_

"Kurt," Puckerman stands up, silencing the room, and looks at Kurt, optimistic smile on his face, "I can make you a star. Anywhere else, you'll be furniture, at best. You've had all the time I can give you to think about this. You know what to do. Are you gonna be a performer or a pedaller?"

Kurt blinks. He's aware, for the first time since he arrived onstage, of the sound of his heart beating in his chest. It's eerily slow and steady. He knows what to do.

He wants to be a star, but this isn't just about him.

"A performer," he says, evenly. He'd be letting Dave down otherwise, right?

**  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so nervous to find out what you all think of this chapter! Please, please review to let me know.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings (just to be safe, this chapter only): Angst, drug-addled dreams, some biting/bruising, aggression, self-harm.

_  
_

**  
**

When Dave comes to, he blinks against the light and winces as his neck creaks, tender from being bent at an unnatural angle. He finds himself slumped on a cold tile floor against a blank white wall, somehow just as familiar as it is alien, as stark and bright as all the others around here.

 _Here_.

And  _fuck_ , the rapid realization hits him like the sting of the taser. He's still  _here_ ; maybe it's not too late.

He looks up, across the room, at the seated Guard Officer and attempts to pull himself up and off the ground. "Where's Kurt? Where am I? Can I–"

The Officer stands, too, and extends a steadying hand to help him up, cutting off his jumbled words, "You're on your way back to the mid-zones, kid, just as soon as I make sure you can stand straight."

Dave recoils from the touch but, as he stands, his legs shake and his head spins. There's an electric itch in his temple and a nervous ache in his chest as that last image of Kurt flashes through his mind; his face, striking under the spotlight as he sang his silent song, strange smile tugging at the corner of his lips even as the tears rolled down his cheeks, even as his eyes grew huge and glassy, pleading pools of water-blue uncertainty.

Then, the gleeful leering of the judges.

Dave closes his eyes and feels his jaw set. Those  _fucking_  judges. He recalls the staffer's words about an offer from Puckerman and he feels his guts tangle into a knot of dread. "I have to..." he starts but trails off as he looks around for a way  _back_.

They're in a long, narrow room that may or may not be a corridor. It's flanked by matching doorways, but only one in the near distance has a panel beside it, showing the  _Star Shot_  logo, and Dave stumbles towards it in a desperate rush. He's not sure  _how_  long he was out, but it can't have been that long. He has to get back in there; he has to find out why Kurt was crying and what the fuck kind of offer Puckerman was making.

Noah Puckerman. Kurt had called him the  _porn king extraordinaire_. Famous for one thing, and one thing only. He knows exactly what kind of offer Puck was making and –  _"Fuck!"_  his legs are stiff, nerves tense, still coiled tight and thrumming from the electric current, as he makes his way towards the door – that wasn't what he'd meant when he told Kurt to take whatever offer was put on the table.

Kurt would never take that kind of offer, right? He wouldn't. Not if he was thinking straight.

At that moment, a tidal wave of  _words_  flood Dave's consciousness:  _It's not optional, Hummel...Do it for us...What if they don't like my voice...Then they'll like something else...It's compulsory...You can't go onstage without it...I can't do this...You are doing this...Do you think you're Dream Stream material...?_

Dave's struggling to make sense of exactly what he's suddenly so scared of but he knows he has to find out where Kurt is; where he's gone,  _if_  he's gone, why he's gone. He whacks his hand against the panel.

***Access denied***

He closes his eyes against the ring of that familiar automated voice; too soft for the blow it delivers.

"Give it up, kid."

Dave ignores the Officer's flat tone and smacks his palm harder against the entrance panel, a strangled groan of frustration making its way past his lips as he hammers it again and again, full force, in futile command.

***Access denied***

"They won't let you back in."

***Access denied***

"You can't mess with those guys."

***Access denied***

Dave slaps his palm against the panel one last time before leaning his head against the door in defeat. He turns slowly back towards the Guard Officer who eyes him with a curious mix of pity and irritation. "Come on, now. Time to go home. Don't make it worse than it already is."

And he wonders, as he moves, resigned,  _wrecked_ , back towards the Officer on unsteady feet, how it could possibly get any worse than this.

* * *

Dave's surprised to find, when he's guided by the elbow out through an unmarked door and pushed onto a travelator, that they're already back on the ground floor; already far away from Studio SS and Kurt and Puckerman and the doe-eyed staffer who called the Guard on him for wanting to  _hear_  what the fuck was going on.

The Guard Officer stands behind him and keeps that loose grip on his elbow as they move simultaneously too slow and too fast towards the exit. "You gonna be okay?"

Dave doesn't answer but he feels a light hand shoving him towards the door anyway, so he crosses the threshold of Zone 7, out into the main zone entryway, and turns back towards the Officer. He takes him in; the stiff blue jumpsuit, the droop of sad, brown eyes, and the thin, unwavering line of his mouth. He asks, voice soft, pleading, "What happened, up there? Is—"

"Just what sometimes happens." The Officer cuts him off with a shrug. "Go home, kid. Forget about it. Get some rest." There's something like empathy in those eyes as he speaks, Dave can see it, and, although he has a million questions still to ask – although he wants to kick and scream and fight his way back in - he stays still and doesn't try to ask him anything else as the door slides to a close in front of him, blocking his way back to the studio; back to the edge, to Kurt.

He walks back towards Zone 216 as quickly as he can, singing Kurt's song under his breath along the way. It's the only thing he can think of to centre his tortuous thoughts, though it doesn't really work. He knows he's singing through gritted teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists by his side as he makes his way through the vast exchange that leads him back to his pod, where he can see, where he can hear, for himself just what happened.

It's quieter, now, than it was when he was here with Kurt today, not nine hours before. He mostly ignores the few strange looks he gets from passersby as the odd word, the occasional sob, escapes from his trembling lips.

Except when he sees one guy give him a questioning, accusing, look – a guy who looks a lot like Nick, a guy who looks like he might not back down from the challenge – and he veers towards him, barking " _What?_ ", daring him to say something back.

And  _fuck_  does he want an excuse right now, any excuse, to pound his fist into something,  _someone._  It's been so long since he felt anything like this – the need to cause some damage, to feel something other than the hurt, the fear, the panic, on the inside.

The guy just shakes his head and holds up his hands in a brief placating gesture and keeps on walking.

Dave huffs out an anguished sigh, hands still balled into furious fists by his side, and he keeps on walking, too.

* * *

 _Kurt's sure he's awake, but his eyes are closed as if glued; fastened shut and heavy._ _All he can see is a distant red haze outlining the darkness. He's aware of nothing but the lips against his skin, searing hot and wet with spit. Then, he's aware of the_ pressure _; the sucking-biting sensation that straddles the border between pleasure and pain._

 _When he manages to open his eyes, Dave is on his knees in front of him, working at the elastic waistband of his pants – they're_ golden _, not grey –_ _sliding them lower, over his hips and down his thighs. He can feel every inch of skin that Dave's mouth has touched; his lips feel swollen and sore, the length of his neck is tender and, when he sucks in a breath, there's a distant throb, a twinge of hurt, at the indent of his collarbone and across the flat plane of his chest, down over the ridges of his ribcage._

 _When he looks down again he can see the trail of still blooming purple-red bruises, bite marks, Dave has left all over his body; they'll act as a reminder, he knows, when he's gone, of everywhere he's been, and they lead a delicious path to where he is_ now _._

 _The sweet ache he feels makes him hyper aware of every bit of exposed skin. Because, he realizes with an almost start, he_ is _exposed; naked, with Dave's lips, Dave's tongue and teeth, working at marking the sensitive flesh between his legs - a rhythmic_ biting-sucking-bruising _\- and it hurts so good that it makes him feel dizzy. He raises his eyes, away from the visual assault if nothing else, and there are Counters all around them; watching, smiling, cheering, clapping, though he can't quite hear them. All he hears is the too-quick drumming of his heart and the sound of Dave all but devouring him._

_Still, they wave banners that he can't read and wear expressions that seem too real, too complex, to be fake. He feels shocked and ashamed at being so exposed and he tugs at Dave's hair to pull him away, to get him to stop but he doesn't – he_ _won't_ _– instead, he tightens his grip on Kurt's hips, holds him firmly in place, and Kurt comes in spite of himself, gold stars blistering behind his eyelids as he squeezes them shut._

_And when he tries, he can't get his eyes to open again._

_His vision turns crimson; he_ knows _that means something. A breach? A warning? But there's no alarm, not this time; everything's gone quiet. But still red...and red is still a warning, right? Even here. He feels panic swell in his chest, feels his heart pounds soundlessly. He becomes aware of his breathing, of his lungs sucking in too much of the alien air, but he doesn't feel light and floaty like before. His limbs feel stuck, weighted, like his eyes; when he tries, he can't move a muscle._

 _He attempts again, in vain, to open his heavy eyes._ _He can hear the distant cheering of the Counters again –_ Do it! Do it! Do it! _– and he can see smiling faces, even though he_ _knows_ _his eyes are still closed._

_There are dark shapes, too; shadows, against the endless red haze._ _Then there's a pad in his lap, a contract he can't read, and the familiar warm sting in his hand from an encoder._ _There are smiling faces and he feels strong arms around him and he doesn't know who they belong to, but he knows they're not Dave's._

_Not this time. And not anymore._

* * *

By the time he reaches the main elevator of Zone 216, Dave's managed to calm himself down a little. He takes a deep breath and reasons that he doesn't – can't – know what was said, what was offered and accepted or declined, until he gets back to his pod and sees for himself. He tries to remind himself that, even though there were tears, Kurt  _was_  still smiling. They could've been happy tears, right? Maybe Puck has branched out after all, maybe he's offered Kurt the chance of his dreams and he was happy and sad all at once. Maybe that doe-eyed staffer got the wrong judge; maybe it wasn't even Puckerman who made Kurt the offer. Maybe he's been getting himself all worked up over nothing. Except...there's still a niggle of doubt twisting in his stomach and when it comes to Kurt, it's never  _nothing_.

As he rides the elevator he feels every cell in his body thrum with nerves. He tries to distract himself with minutiae; should he grab some water, a Wonderbar from the vendors before going back to his pod? He knows he'll be locked in once he's there, and he isn't hungry now – far from it – but... He decides against it. There's the phantom flavour of Kurt still in his mouth and he wants it to stay there, for now.

He catches sight of himself in the shiny surface of the elevator wall and he's almost surprised to see that he doesn't look as bad as he feels; his eyes look hard and black above slightly puffy eyes, his lips are drawn into tight, straight line, and there's a feint dark stain on the front his pants (from where he'd come earlier, barely touched, with his lips on Kurt), but otherwise he looks unnervingly normal; average, unscathed.

He tugs at his crotch, at the stiffened-stickiness in his boxers, under his pants. He can't quite bring himself to smile at the memory; not yet. The shift makes the forgotten cardboard carton nip at his skin and he's reminded that he has at least something physical, a keepsake; the last thing to touch Kurt's lips other than his own.

Dave pulls out the carton and looks at the label.  _Compliance_. It's already bashed and curved slightly, moulded to the shape of his body. He turns it over in his hands but there's nothing else written there; no ingredients, no brand name, no ad link, no clue, but...he can think about that later. As his floor approaches he tucks the flattened carton safely back into his waistband, keeping it hidden from any potential unwanted attention.

When he gets to his pod there's a sheen of cold sweat covering his body, limbs stiff from a day without pedalling, from the voltage that temporarily paralysed his muscles. His heart jumps when his door closes with a clunk, locks, and he sees the familiar flashing message icon on his dash. It has to be Kurt, right? He  _didn't_  make it; didn't take the offer, this time, and he's back in his own pod. Dave feels tears prick his barely-dry eyes and almost hits the live call icon that resides there on his dash before even reading the message. He already has soothing words for Kurt on the tip of his tongue, a new plan to discuss, a workable routine, and he hates himself for it, but he's glad – he's fucking  _ecstatic –_  that Kurt's still here, still within some kind of reach, until...

Until it's clear that he's not.

The message isn't from Kurt. Or rather, none of the messages are. There's one from Santana – who has never messaged him before – two from Nick – fucking  _Nick?_  – and one from someone named Dean. Every other message saved in his inbox was from Kurt but now, they're all gone, lost but for their memory. His eyes close involuntarily against the sight and he feels his heart plummet. This isn't good. When he pries his eyes open again he doesn't read any of the waiting messages, not yet; he goes to the menu on his dash instead, flicking through content until he gets to the  _Dream Stream_  and loads the replay of tonight's  _Star Shot_.

His hands are shaking as he motions towards the screen for it to begin. It's all so fucking  _surreal_  that he was just  _there_ , backstage at the show - at the edge – with Kurt. Even though his legs still feel unsteady he can't bring himself to sit down as he winds through the first part of the show with a trembling hand until an ad stream stops him and curses and uses what little credits he has left to pay to skip it, to skip all of them, and continues to fast-forward through the other hopefuls until he gets to the part he needs to see.

And it already feels like too long since he's seen that face. Kurt – not just his Counter, but the real thing - fills the main vis-wall of his pod. His pale skin almost shines under the spotlight, ethereal against the blue backdrop, pink cheeks aglow with color that  _he_  helped to put there. Dave lets himself smile at the sound of his voice filling the small room – lyrical even in speech – at the fact that, this time, he can hear it all, too.

He stands still as he watches, and his heart swells, tears well in his eyes, as Kurt quietly utters his name in dedication. That feeling comes again; that almost-hope, that the tears to come are happy tears. Bittersweet, but not bad. As Dave watches, listens, intently to his boyfriend sing for him, for the judges, for the world, he almost forgets that there's a  _but_... coming at the end of this performance.

But...

* * *

Kurt blinks slowly awake and the first thing he notices is that the light seems all wrong. It's dark, but not quite dark enough; it's too bright to be the middle of the night, yet there's no familiar fake sunrise, no purple clouds or blue sky lighting up the sleep-bleary vis-wall in front of him. No cockerel crowing in alarm.

He lets his eyes close again. There's a persistent pounding in his head and fragments from his dream jab at his consciousness. He feels a tingle fly up his spine as he remembers what  _wasn't_  a dream, the time he and Dave had together before—

 _Before_. Shit. Before...he  _sang_. Before he was on  _Star Shot_  and—

Kurt pushes himself quickly up on an elbow and his mind reels. He doesn't know where he is, but he knows this isn't his pod. His head hurts when he moves and he groans as he sits up fully, cradling his aching skull in his hands. He was on  _Star Shot_. He actually  _did_  it. And Dave was with him. He remembers every detail of their time together – the shameless hand holding in the green room, the reassuring looks during pre-selection, and the kissing; Dave's mouth everywhere, just like in his dream – it all comes back in spades, but he tries to push it aside to focus on what he  _can't_  remember.

He sang. He remembers looking out at all the Counters on the massive vis-wall behind the judges; he remembers closing his eyes and taking a breath and feeling floaty, dizzy with adrenalin. And he remembers the judges smiling at him, he remembers some of what they said; that they liked him. But not...fuck. Panic swells in his chest. He doesn't remember how he ended up here, or even where  _here_  is. Why can't he just  _remember_?

He throws back the soft blanket that covers him and, as his feet hit the floor, a soft golden light illuminates the room. Kurt sways as he stands, as dizzy as he remembers being earlier, and his ass lands swiftly back on the bed and – wow, okay – this definitely isn't his pod.

The room is  _big_ ; at least twice the size of his pod, and there's no shiny black vis-wall, no cold tile floor or grey, scratchy blanket. No virtual sunrise or hazy skyscape. There's a soft, chocolate colored rug tickling at the toes of his bare feet and the walls are a sleek, shimmering white. Kurt leans a hand on the table beside the bed and attempts to stand again, turning slowly; the  _what_  of his foreign surroundings temporarily enough to distract him from the  _why_.

There's one dark glassy wall at the far side of the room, opposite the bed. It looks like a mirror screen only not as reflective and it seems somehow illuminated; there are tiny pinpricks of light poking through the otherwise vast blackness. He eyes his reflection in the surface; he looks a fright. There are dark circles, visible even in the gloom, under his eyes and his hair is all askew. He's wearing his grey sweatpants but his t-shirt's gone, revealing his bare chest and the swollen, dark bruise that Dave left – his parting gift – above his hip. And  _fuck_ , what comes back to him comes back hard - Dave's lips surrounding him, devouring him – and it sends a slight shudder through his body. He wants nothing more than to have Dave with him now; wishes that, like in his dream, everywhere Dave had touched him left a mark on his skin, a sign that he was there, that he was his, that it was real. As fragments of memory, shards of his dream, maybe his nightmare, fill his throbbing head he closes his eyes; he's not sure he can tell the difference between them anymore.

Before he can start to sift through the wreckage of his thoughts, there's a feint knocking sound, a quiet swoosh, and before he can turn to face it, there's a voice, too.

"Hey, sleeping cutie. Glad you decided to join us in the land of the living."

* * *

Dave's still standing, barely, as he watches the judges' dole out their nuggets of wisdom, as they appraise and evaluate his boyfriend with lecherous eyes. He's seen enough of these shows that he knew what to expect – he knows  _he_  looks at Kurt through love-blind eyes just like he knows these judges make their credits by being cruel and calculating and coarse – but he hadn't expected it to be like this. At least, not until earlier tonight.

" _ **That sweetness is all an act, right? I hear you have a couple of two-twelve breaches under your belt..."**_

Those words cut him like a knife; he feels a smarting visceral slice as he watches the judges use his –  _their_  – past transgressions against him. He should've  _known_.

" _ **You want to be in the spotlight, princess?"**_

He feels sick to his stomach. All he can do is watch, helpless, useless, as his nails cut crescents into the palms of his hands, clenched into white-knuckled fists in front of him, as they shame and taunt and fucking bully a stage-frightened Kurt into compliance.

_**"You were gifted the credits to come here and you're willing to throw that gift away?"** _

Fucking  _Compliance_. He pulls the carton out of his pants but spares it only a brief look as he holds it in a too-tight grip. It can't be coincidence that there's something different about him, something quintessentially  _Kurt_  missing from the wide-eyed boy he knows and loves as he stands there, nodding in vacant agreement at everything these assholes say. Can it?

" _ **Maybe you do belong on a bike, Kurt. Because you don't seem very willing to step off it."**_

This isn't Kurt; this is a hollow approximation. He may as well be looking at Kurt's Counter up there; all surface but no  _feeling_. Yet, his heart still wrenches at the sight of the crystalline tears rolling down his expressionless face and Dave feels his own begin to flow in extension as all of his fears, and worse, are confirmed.

 _ **"I can make you a star**_ _."_ Puckerman says, and Dave amends, "A fucking porn star," before he can stop himself, eyes scrunching shut; as if not seeing it, this time, will make it go away. _ **"Anywhere else, you'll be furniture, at best."**_

Dave reopens his eyes, shakes his head and moves uselessly towards the display, hand reaching out to touch, as he feels himself mouthing ' _no_ ' over and over, even though he knows it's too late.

" _ **You've had all the time I can give you to think about this. You know what to do."**_

It was too late the moment he gifted Kurt those credits.

" _ **Are you gonna be a performer or a pedaller?"**_

Dave's lips quake in equal parts fear and fury and his tears threaten to blind him. He tries to watch Kurt through unfocused eyes; too close, anyway, to see much past the indistinct, glowing movement of the pixels on the screen as he lets his forehead thump against the vis-wall, against the image of Kurt, keeping strange time with the roaring of the Counters, a million hapless, heedless pedallers chanting—

_**"Do it! Do it! Do it!"** _

He can't see Kurt's face, not anymore, can't bear to look past the moving pixels stinging his eyes, as he says the words – too smooth, too quietly calm – that seal his fate.

" _ **A performer."**_

As the judges, the assembled Counters, go wild in unaware approval, Dave hears a sob rip from his own throat; a wet, derelict sound that steals his breath and threatens to buckle his legs. He feels like he's been punched in the gut; dealt a blow that he's already  _aching_  to reciprocate.

" _ **Kurt Hummel, welcome to the Puck's Play family!"**_

Dave feels his heart sink, feels his lungs shrivel and shrink in chest as his legs give way beneath him. And it fucking hurts more than any football foul he's ever felt, more than any fist in the face or  _fag_  or  _fairy_  he's ever had flung his way.

" _ **Look out for this guy...I have big plans...you'll be seeing a**_ **lot** _ **more of him soon."**_

For the second time today, Dave finds himself back on his knees in from of Kurt Hummel; in awe of what's happening, what's about to happen, but it's nothing like it was before. For all his fear of the future, of failure, Dave had never thought to fear this; if he ever thought he'd be the ruin of Kurt, he hadn't expected it to happen this way.

He leans back, able to see but not willing to; scrunching his eyes tight closed to block out the agonizing view of Noah Puckerman smirking in triumph, stalking towards Kurt on the sparkling stage, arm snaking around his slim shoulders, claiming him.

That touch short circuits his already wired brain; reignites the spark that flared earlier as he imagines all the hands, now, that will get to touch Kurt; the practiced mouths that will taste him, the hips that will take him in ways that Dave only ever got to imagine.

When he manages to open his eyes again, Kurt's still on the screen, flickering in the artificial glare of the spotlight, small smile still in place, but it's all a filmy red; a shattered mess of splintered glass, missing kaleidoscopic pieces and...

Oh.

There's pain, now, on the outside, too; there's blood,  _Dave's_  blood smeared across the cracked and broken display, and still his fist is pounding ineffectually against it, wanting more, needing more of  _this_  feeling to drown out what he's suffering inside.

He wants desperately, now, to rewind time; to go back to just holding hands under the refectory table, to sharing looks that conjure up a million unspoken words; he's willing to go back to a time when he never knew the taste of Kurt's mouth or the feel of his hands; the sound, the  _sounds_ , he makes when he's at the edge of his orgasm, because, if he thought that was torture, what will this be? And almost worst of all, he knows it's all his fault. He pushed and pushed, he let it happen; the penalty chasing, the gifted credits, the audition; the ' _do what it takes'_  and ' _this is the only way' and 'it's not optional, Hummel'_ ; the backroom blowjob and even the fucking song that the judges didn't like. Dave had started it all with a look, with a stolen kiss; but,  _fuck_   _it all_ , this can't be how it ends.

There's a sharp sting in his eyes as swipes an unthinking wrist across his face. He's forced to take in his ruined hand, then; the sharp blade of glass in his pain-deadened fist, and he stops, beaten by the sting, by the system, by the song that starts to play, signalling the show's over. He lets his body crumple to the floor, lets his head fall and rest atop the crunching debris of the glass wall, his newly wrecked window to the world. He knows he can't go back; not to the life he had before Kurt came around. There's no easy routine, now; no safe distance. He has to find a way  _back_. He has a put together new plan to make everything right.

He blinks in scarlet as the  _Star Shot_  theme song – 'I Have a Dream' – stammers at him through the speakers, clashing with the tinny warning tone until it all fades into a distant red haze.

He had a dream; for himself, for Kurt. But this? This isn't it. This is a nightmare.

* * *

Kurt's still too dazed to really feel startled as he turns towards the sound, lifting his head to squint at the boy standing in the doorway. His hair is a mess of unruly dark curls and his easy smile curves upwards to reveal perfect white teeth. He's wearing a wh ite– not  _grey_  – form-fitting tank top and loose blue – not  _grey_  – pajama pants.

"Where am I?" Kurt asks, his voice is hoarse and his lips feel dry and chapped. He feels suddenly exposed, self conscious under this guy's gaze and sits back on down on the edge of the bed, crossing his arms over his chest before running an unsteady hand through his messy hair.

"You," the stranger replies, smiling wider and taking a self-assured step towards the bed, "are in one of Edge Four's finest luxury apartments. They obviously have high hopes for you." He raises a thick eyebrow and takes a still-smiling sip of whatever's in the beaker in his grasp.

Kurt feels his face scrunch in frustration as a million questions buzz through his aching head. "And who are you? Why are you here?" He has to start somewhere and this guy's face, his charming smile, isn't telling him anything.

"Aw," The guys frowns, but it looks forced and comedic, and is quickly replaced by that same winning smile as before. "I kind of hoped you might recognize me."

 _Should I recognize him?_  Kurt thinks but just continues to look warily at him. He does look vaguely familiar, but it still feels to Kurt like there's loose wire somewhere between his brain and his mouth, and he can't quite bring himself to trust anything inbetween.

The guy pauses and huffs, smile never wavering, as he rolls his eyes before taking a step closer and extending his free hand.

"I'm Blaine," he says and when Kurt doesn't offer his hand, he takes it anyway, caresses it in a soft soothing shake, "and I am – among other things – your new roommate."

_  
_


	23. Chapter 23

Dave comes to in a strange place for the second time in as many days. He thinks, for a moment, that he's still at the edge – everything's that same dazzling white as before, too bright, and it burns his retinas as he blinks tiredly against it – until recent memory returns, pounding at his head like a fist.

He glances around then down, catching sight of his bandaged hand lying on top of the pale blue blanket that covers his legs. It looks like it's too big; he can't tell if it's swollen from the damage he's done or just bloated from too many layers of gauze. It also looks like it should hurt, but he feels numb from the elbow down. He shuffles in the bed, pulling himself up slightly, and winces, wishing that he was numb all over, body  _and_  mind.

"How do you feel?"

Dave looks up, slightly startled, to see a woman in a jumpsuit that's the same powder-blue as the blanket on his bed standing in the doorway, pad in hand. She eyes him with apparent concern and he attempts to shrug his shoulders. "Like shit."

She nods and slides into the room, edging closer on the right, casting her eyes over the pad before looking back at him. "I'm not surprised. You lost a lot of blood."

There's a red flash of memory at that and Dave feels something like shame start to mingle with all the other rousing emotions battling inside him. He just felt so fucking  _angry_ , so mad at—

"I've given you a prescription for painkillers, twice a day, that won't affect your pedalling too much. Your other hand's been encoded," she motions to his left hand, currently curled into a unwitting fist over his stomach, scorched black  _Star Shot 'F'_  logo still cruelly intact, "because the other one's gonna be out of play for a little while yet."

He nods contritely but says nothing, allowing the short weighted silence to settle between them.

"Listen, David, I read your profile. I have a fair idea of why this happened," she looks him dead in the eye and sighs before going on, "but you don't have the credits for psych care and the prescription's only good for a week."

Dave tears his eyes away from hers and back to the bandaged bulk of his right hand, setting his jaw, muttering a terse "I'll be fine."

"All I can recommend is that you avoid...whatever triggered this. Keep your head down. Earn some credits and if you need any more help, then come back to the med centre when you can, okay?"

He nods again, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he feels it start to quake. He only wishes it was that easy. He doesn't lift his gaze.

"I couldn't wangle a day pass for you," she says softly, with what sounds like it might be regret, "but you can stay here 'til six. You should head back to your room as soon as you feel up to it. Get some rest before your shift starts."

Dave closes his eyes and feels his tongue dart out over dry lips. He doesn't want to go back there; not to his pod, not to his bike. He lets out a shaky breath and when he looks up to respond the doctor – or nurse? He's not sure how to tell the difference – is already gone.

It's 5.17am; the chrono on the wall by the risen bed catches his eye and almost groans. He feels exhausted, as shattered as the broken mess in his pod, but it's barely two hours until he has to be back on the floor. He finds he's already dressed in a fresh grey t-shirt, fresh grey sweats and he flinches at the thought of the medics having to haul him out of the barbed rubble he left behind. He uses his good hand to throw back the blanket and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. A pair of fresh, white sneakers await him there, too, and he shoves his feet into them with as much grace as he can muster before making his way out of the room, out of the med centre and back towards his ruined pod. He doesn't have a plan yet, but he knows he has to face the wreckage of his old life in order to build a new one. It might as well be sooner rather than later.

Dave shuffles towards the nearest elevator, still groggy from a sickly sleep, but trying his best to pull the wounded sprawl of his mind into order. He has always had a plan. To focus on a goal, to stick to a routine, to make it out of this fucked up system as swiftly and efficiently as he can. The plan was simple, straightforward. Dave knew he had the discipline to deny himself anything, everything, with the promise of a better tomorrow somewhere in sight. But the moment he set eyes on Kurt Hummel he was stripped of that discipline; his plan shifted, his routine altered, and it threw him for a loop, but he welcomed each and every change. He never wanted to have to deny Kurt anything.

Their lives had collided purely by chance, here on the floor; their hopes and their dreams, too, despite their superficial differences. And in having Kurt, in wanting to have him not just here, or now, but for longer that he might be allowed, maybe forever, he'd thrown everything he could at the beautiful, brilliant boy who'd stolen his heart and his mind; his love and his passion, his longing for  _more_ , his desire, his determination to  _do_  and  _be_  better than was ever expected. And yet here they are, separate, facing the wreck born of that collision; good intentions gone bad, something real and true stolen from them both, mocked and exploited in front of everyone that cares to watch.

He swipes the back of his good hand across both cheeks as he boards the elevator, sniffing back the tears that yearn to fall. He knows they won't do him, or Kurt, any good now. He's cried enough already.  _You need to toughen up, David_ , his Mom had said. And he almost laughs to himself at the fact that this, finally, might just be the thing to do it. Because he's not the same as he was, then – yeah, he's still scared, still fucking angry, but now he knows just how to channel it. And although everything will be different without Kurt here, he knows that doesn't mean anything has to change; Dave still has the same goal in sight – to get out of the mid-zones, to be with Kurt – it's just that, now, he knows, he has to find another way to get there.

* * *

Kurt's fist rises, unbidden, to his mouth as he watches the freakshow mirror version of himself on the screen in disbelief, agreeing to perform for  _Puck's Play._

Blaine had given him a t-shirt, a heavy glass filled with sweet-tasting water and had beckoned him to join him in the den to 'refresh his memory'. Kurt knew he'd done it; made it through his  _Star Shot_  audition, but he didn't feel giddy with excitement, he didn't feel the elation that he always thought he would. Instead, he felt a heavy dread in his stomach; he felt confused, frightened, even, as the first-hand memory of his time on stage – everything, really, after Dave's dizzying goodbye kiss and his first glimpse of the judges – had deserted him.

He looks at Blaine, the smiling stranger sitting at the other end of the plump black leather sofa, almost hypnotically dark against the stark white of everything else in the room, and shakes his head, "This isn't what I wanted."

"Kurt, listen. It was the same for me. It's just a stepping stone—"

And suddenly, he knows why Blaine looks distantly familiar, why he expected to be recognised; Kurt remembers the boy's smiling face filling a mirror screen, the words ' _All New, All Nude'_  and the rumbled blush that spread high across Dave's cheeks as the ad played behind him. Kurt has  _seen_  this guy, watched him on stream, with Dave's voice, breathless and wanton, in his ears. "You're..." he starts as he grows still, looking the  _Puck's Play_  star right in the eye. Kurt can't find the words to finish the though; too much in shock to blush himself at his newfound understanding of this whole, fucked up situation.

Blaine smiles, lopsided and something lights his gaze. He tilts his head and flutters dark eyelashes in what looks like a practiced move and sing-songs, "So you  _do_  recognize me."

"This can't be happening," Kurt groans aloud and turns away from him. "Why don't I even  _remember_?" His voice has taken on a shrill, piercing edge of panic and he's up and out of seat, pacing aimlessly.

"It's..." Blaine approaches and stills Kurt, firm hands resting on his suddenly sob-wracked shoulders, "It's just because of the  _Compliance_. It was your first time, so..."

" _Compliance_?" Kurt says, blinking back at the bewilderingly calm face of the stranger in front of him. A flash of memory almost blinds him. "You mean, that drink...before...they fucking  _drugged_  me?"

"No, no," he smiles but it fades fast as he shakes his head, "it's not a drug,  _per se_..."

Kurt shakes himself out of Blaine's grasp and collapses back onto the sofa, leg curling under him as he slumps in defeat, disbelief keep the real tears at bay. "I can't believe this is happening."

"It's just a mood enhancer, we all use it. It doesn't affect your memory or your real feelings once you get used to it."

"I don't want to get used to it!"

Blaine frowns and sits down beside him. "Kurt, I—"

"This is all...wrong. David—"

"David's your boyfriend? The one who gifted you the credits to do  _Star Shot_?" Blaine asks, smile making a slight return to his plump lips. The question disarms him slightly; some of the anger bubbling in his gut gives way to hurt as Kurt nods and closes his eyes. David was right there. He  _saw_  this, didn't he? Why didn't try to stop it?

"Kurt," Blaine scoots closer and looks at him with an expression so earnest it's hard to look away, "I had -  _have_  - the same dreams as you. Noah spotted me when I did  _Thespian Theatre_ , but I wasn't ready for that, back then. My acting was," he pauses, lips threatening another, different, smile as he half-rolls his eyes, "shockingly bad, but I didn't have anything else. Noah gave me a chance. He took me off the floor and gave me all this. I might never have had it otherwise."

Kurt looks at him, gaze wavering through his tears. An outlying shame grips him; there's nothing nice in his head as memory filters through the internal fog. He thinks about all the people who would have watched his audition, his moment in that tarnished spotlight. He doesn't have any friends, not really, but there's David and Santana, his other bikemates...his Dad.

He can't find the words to respond to Blaine with anything but a choked sob.

"I don't know what it was like for you, but I had a pretty hard time on the floor. I was lonely. No-one liked me for a long time, and then, when someone did...we broke all the rules. And it was..." He trails off, memory clouding his dark eyes and they close, just briefly, before fluttering open to look straight at him. "Noah saved me."

"But I...didn't need to be saved," Kurt protests.

"Oh no? You were happy?" Blaine counters. There's a challenge in his voice but it's more plaintive than argumentative.

"I was..." Kurt drops his gaze to his hands, shakily clasped in his lap. "I was for a while."

"What," Blaine shifts a little closer, resting a soft hand tentatively on top of Kurt's, "being on that bike all day? Keeping your head down in case someone saw you  _looking_ or—"

"It was never like that, I always had David."

"Did you really?" Kurt feels his mouth go dry at that. "Were you free to do what you wanted? Did you get to hold hands in the hallways? Did you kiss goodnight? Did you share your bed without being shamed, penalised, just for having those  _feelings_?"

His month without Dave is all too fresh in his mind, as is the knowledge that a message here, a live call there, wasn't ever going to be enough. He feels his lips tighten, his jaw set, as he tries not to dwell on that loss on top of whatever else is happening here. He looks back up at Blaine and the boy's eyes soften as the hand on top of his own squeezes in sympathy. It's small comfort; not nearly enough and almost too much at the hand of a stranger, but Kurt can't bring himself to pull it away from the warmth.

"The midzones don't have anything to offer guys like us, Kurt. Sure, on the floor we're all the same. Equals in our efficacy. They can say what they like. But afterwards?" He shakes his head and huffs out a rueful little laugh before looking back up at Kurt, serious. "You'll be bottom of the heap when it's time to produce. If you're lucky, you'll find a nice butch dyke who's in the same position as you." A snort of bitter laughter escapes his lips and his eyes turn hard and glassy. "If you're not so lucky, there'll be a girl who couldn't find any other guy, who you don't want and who doesn't want you, and you'll find a way to produce a little pedaller of your own. You'll work your miserable job to feed the miserable kid you never wanted and you'll live your miserable life, and, if you're lucky, you'll have a guy, somewhere, that knows just what it's like. You'll talk and you'll get each other off, when you can afford it. Or, when you get five minutes alone, you'll jerk off to guys like me, guys like  _us_ , on  _Puck's Play."_

"That's..." Kurt says and shakes his still splitting head, tears flowing freely from his stinging eyes. It hurts to hear what he knows is the truth, but it almost hurts more to think that this is the only alternative.

" _Or,"_ Blaine continues, unabashed _,_ "you can take whatever else you can get while it's on offer. You can make the most of the opportunities that present themselves. You can have all  _this_. You can do an amazing job, and get paid well for it. You can be the star you've always wanted to be." His face breaks into a genuine smile. "You'll have armies of fans, Kurt. Hundreds – thousands – of guys, and girls, that  _want_  you, that want to be just like you. You'll be the highlight of their day. And, when you've done your job, when the lens is off and you've played your part, you get to go and be whoever you want to be, be  _with_  whoever you want to be with, and you never have to apologize for any of it."

"I get that what you're saying makes some kind of sense, okay? I get that, but that's for  _you_...this...it was just...it was never..." He feels the tears roll down his face as his eyes close and his mind races to think of a way  _back_. "This is all a mistake. I just need to talk to someone. To Puckerman. To David, I don't want to—"

"It's okay," Blaine strokes his thumb gently across Kurt's knuckles, "we're meeting with Noah tomorrow," he pauses and looks briefly up at the screen, "well, later today. If this really isn't what you want, then he'll find a way to make it work, or he'll let you go. He's not a monster."

Kurt snorts at that, not at all sure. The  _Compliance_ , the feral smile he saw directed at him on the screen, would seem to suggest otherwise.

"Now, go get some rest, new kid." Blaine raises his hand to Kurt's face and wipes blithely at the tears already drying on his cheeks. It's the closest he's ever been to another boy besides Dave and he feels himself instinctively recoiling from the touch. It's not the one he wants. Kurt looks into Blaine's eyes, then; they're big and brown, but different to Dave's, darker, wider, but there's no malice there. He finds no sign of cruel or covetous intent behind the simple gesture. Blaine smiles warmly at him and, in spite of himself, Kurt finds it welcome; he almost smiles back. "It's still the middle of the night and, whatever you decide, you have a big day ahead of you."

Kurt nods and licks his suddenly dry lips, standing and looking around the soft white glow of the room, past the shiny dark surface of the far wall, and towards the door they'd entered through. He could use some time to think, to get his muddled mind back into some kind of order before he speaks to his new...whatever Noah Puckerman is to him now. "Is Puckerman coming here?" He asks, turning back towards a still seated Blaine, who's flicking leisurely through the menu on the vast vis-wall in front of him.

"No, we're meeting him downtown."

"Downtown?" Kurt's heart skips a little; he wishes he was here under an entirely different set of circumstances, but he can't deny himself the thrill of just  _being_  at the edge, the knowledge that, while he's here, he'll get to see first-hand some of the things he's only ever seen on stream, to do the things he's dreamt of doing since he was a little boy.

"Yeah, we have to get you to the mall. Floor chic is so last season," he chuckles and motions to Kurt's attire, making him feel a little self conscious in his uniform grey sweats, "might as well spend that million credit signing bonus on a new wardrobe that doesn't include anything made of hideous grey jersey, right?"

"Right," Kurt nods, a little dumbfounded at the idea of  _actual_  shopping, "but what if...?"

"I have my orders, Kurt," he stands and flicks his wrist, deactivating the vis-wall, turning it the same shimmering white as the others in the room. "Take you clothes-shopping; meet Noah and Sebastian for lunch. The rest," Blaine walks towards him, giving his shoulder an amiable nudge as he passes him by with a smile, "is up to you."

Another set of questions dance on the tip of Kurt's tongue but he still feels strange, slow and unsteady on his feet, and before he can ask anything else, the smiling boy has disappeared behind a closed door.

* * *

Dave scuffs his feet as he walks down the corridor, the numbness in his forearm starting to subside, giving way to a sharp pulsating pain that starts in his fingertips and ekes its way up through his tendons, echoing all the way towards his shoulder.

The door to his pod is open, unlocked, and he approaches it with trepidation, strangely afraid of what he'll find inside.

Part of him hoped it would be cleaned and fixed, by now; time turned back just enough that he could forget at least part of the unpleasantness the last twelve hours had offered him, yet, another part of him hoped it would be just as he'd left it, so he could wallow in the chaos that mirrored his mind; revel in the debris, the crimson confusion he'd tried to leave behind.

He hadn't expected to find it something inbetween.

"You Karofsky?" The girl in the yellow jumpsuit asks him as he hovers in the doorway.

"Yeah."

"You're early. I'll be done in, like, fifteen minutes," she says as she continues to sweep up the shards of glass – he cringes as he sees they're spotted dark with dried blood.

"I...can I come in?"

"In fifteen minutes," she replies, looking back over her shoulder at him with a roll of fierce blue eyes. That alone – that single similarity – is enough to send a pathetic pang of longing through his chest and he quickly drops his eyes back to the floor.

He spies the little white carton as he watches her clean up the mess he made, squished but only slightly blood spattered, carelessly discarded by the foot of his bed. He feels his eyes grow wide and a kind of panic swells inside of him. This is all he has left, he can't lose it. Not yet. Not so soon.

He takes a few steps forward, breaching the entrance. "I need to get in. Just for a minute."

"Dude, just let me finish, okay?"

"I just need a second. Please." His voice sounds harsh in its pleading and he thinks he's fucked up as she stands up straight, draws her lips into tight frown, and gives him a scathing look. Suddenly, though, something in those fierce eyes flickers and fades; she huffs slightly through her nose and drops the dustpan and brush in her hands.

"Fine," she says, "one  _second_ , then you let me finish this shit, okay?"

He nods, a little stunned and a lot grateful, "Okay."

As she turns to leave, Dave sifts as carefully as he can through the splinters of glass and grasps at the  _Compliance_  carton with his good hand. He holds it uselessly as he surveys his surroundings. Most of the glass is still there, the tile floor is still spattered with his blood and the main wall of his pod is fucked, half gone and lifeless without the usual flicker of light. He feels another surge of guilt at the fact he's just made someone else's night that much more shitty; that the girl in the jumpsuit has to deal with his personal crisis. He glances around for somewhere to hide the juicebox. His first thought is drawn towards the bed, under the mattress, but he knows she'll have to strip it down, remake the bed with fresh, unbloodied covers, and really, there's nowhere else.

Unless...he could get it inside the mattress, under the seam, somehow. He kneels, paying no mind, now, to the glass beneath his knees as he struggles, one-handed, to lift the bedding, to search for a seam to breach, a way in. He feels a desperate need to preserve this one little thing, this remnant of Kurt, this possible proof of foul play, and he knows it's stupid but he's so far beyond reason that he's not even questioning himself.

He wedges his shoulder under the mattress and uses his good hand to fumble for a decently jagged piece of the trashed glass scraps from his vis-wall. He attempts, with the sharpest shard he finds, to cut a crude gash into the underside of the mattress. He's sweating, his one usable hand shaking, as the fabric, even at the line of stitching around the edge, is surprisingly tough to violate.

"I'm coming back in, I have to get this shit done," the girl yells and so she does, edging her way past and looking at him with a strange kind of apprehensive bravado. "And, just so you know, I'm only cleaning up. They won't fix your vis-wall 'til you've got enough credits to cover the damage."

"Right," Dave nods and stands upright, concealing the carton and the piece of glass as best he can inside the elastic waist of his pants before she sees. He stays still, the throb of his hand stronger now, as if somehow sensing the scene of the crime. The constant little waves of ache match the rhythmic pounding in his chest, making it hard to focus on anything else. He's almost glad for that.

"So, go wait outside, go to the refectory, I won't go any quicker just 'cause you're staring at me."

"Sorry," he says, shuffling back out of the room, "fifteen minutes?"

"At least."

"Okay then. I'll...see you."

She only huffs at that, and he makes his way out, pacing the corridor before settling himself against the wall outside his pod, sinking to his ass on the cold floor. He doesn't want to go to the refectory; he doesn't want to go to the floor where he knows Kurt spent his last days, pedalling without him.

He immediately chides himself for that thought; Kurt isn't  _gone_ , just temporarily...lost.

Dave listens to the tinkle of glass being swept up, the slop of water on hard tile, as the minutes pass slowly and he tries as hard as not to think of the future.

He needs a new plan, now; a fresh routine to embed so he can reach his revised goal. Tomorrow, he'll start rebuilding his credits, working towards another fifteen.

' _Third time lucky, right?'_

Tomorrow, he'll start to make baby steps back in the direction of Kurt, small strides towards making everything better. But today, he's a hundred-thousand in the red; when he gets to the floor, he knows he'll have questions to field and derision, dicks, to deal with. He's not ready for it, not even slightly, but he steels himself; he has to face down whatever shit's thrown at him so that he can get back on track. He knows that the only way to make it to tomorrow is by getting through today.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long A/N: Finally – an update! I apologize for taking so long with this. It's less to do with the story and more to do with my current health (I have somewhat rapidly worsening rheumatoid arthritis, yada, yada), and, as such this part picks directly up from where the last chapter left off. I had ideas of jumping ahead and flashing back to how the characters got where they are, but the mechanics of it just wouldn't work for me, so I'm afraid we have a few chapters yet of slow, steady melancholia that's necessary for characters to get to where they need to be in the end. This chapter should really be viewed as part one of two (though to save confusion, I'm not labelling it as such), the second of which will be posted in a few days time.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me throughout the surprisingly long journey this story has taken me on – your messages and queries in the weeks without update were very encouraging; feel free to keep them coming.
> 
> Massive thanks to my new beta, Spooky Bibi, for putting up with a lot of disjointed ideas and drug-addled rambling while this chapter was in-progress. She'll hopefully be on board for the remainder of the story and I'm sure will keep me in line ;)

_**1,000,000** _

Kurt feels himself start to squint before his eyes are even half opened. He's on his back in a bed that feels instantly strange – too big, too soft, too  _silky_  – and he's bathed in a warm, yellow light that feels too bright. It shines relentlessly at him from a central point on the wall facing the bed as he blinks rapidly back into consciousness. He's surprised that he actually managed to sleep at all, here and now, although he's sure that the remainder of the  _Compliance_  in his bloodstream had something to do with that. He winces at the thought as he kicks at the too-heavy blanket covering his legs.

He had managed to think, a little, about this  _situation_ before being claimed by a dreamless sleep; enough to convince himself that he could make it right again, once he managed to meet, to speak, with Puckerman. He's here only under a misapprehension; he drank the  _Compliance_  on an empty stomach, in a post-orgasmic stupor, and it had obviously hit him a little too hard. Surely not everyone who takes the  _Star Shot_  stage wakes up the next day to a black hole where that precious memory should be? He can accept the fact that he's embarrassed himself, that he's let everybody down. He'll admit his failure, gladly, if he can just go back to the mid-zones, back to the floor. Back to David.

In the harsh glare of the light, his mind feels clearer than it did before. Although, as various versions of his uncertain future and recent past flit slideshow-style through his mind, he's not sure yet that he's entirely grateful for that clarity; he already feels some of his earlier resolve, his erstwhile optimism, start to fade as something else twists unpleasantly in his stomach.

David was with him right until the end...almost. He couldn't have been allowed to watch his audition in full, right? If he'd heard what they'd said, if he'd seen how Kurt  _looked_  out there – confused and crying – surely he would've done something to stop it. Kurt scrunches his eyes closed against the resurfacing thought. He  _knows_  Dave; he knows that he would have  _tried_  to do something, anything, to protect him. But that knowledge doesn't give him much comfort; the notion that Dave tried, somehow, and failed is almost scarier than the idea that he didn't try at all.

Kurt swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands on mercifully steady legs as he attempts to shield his eyes from the dazzling light with his hand. He does his best to ignore the way his toes sink pleasantly into the fluffy chocolate-brown rug beneath his feet as he looks for a control panel in the hope that maybe dimming the offending lightsource will help subdue his nerves a little, too.

* * *

_**-98,228** _

As he heads, finally, back to the floor, there's a bone-deep, unwavering throb in Dave's broken hand as his bruised and bloodied knuckles burn beneath the bandages, the painkillers already losing their zing. He feels exhausted before he even reaches his bike. He keeps his hand down by his side as he walks at a steady pace; nothing wrong with his feet, his legs, he reminds himself; nothing to stop him from pedalling, from giving all that he's got (all he's got  _left_ ) to that cause, now.

As he starts up the familiar walkway, flanked by two sparse rows of fluorescent grey pedallers, he keeps his eyes down, fixed on the tile floor, and braces himself for the day ahead; he knows roughly what to expect.

They'll all have seen it. Almost everyone watches  _Star Shot_  and, beyond that, everyone loves to see one of their own  _try_  – it doesn't really matter whether success or failure is the outcome. It inspires a strange kind of hope, either way; an I-can-do-better-than-that kind of resolve or a they-were-just-like-me-once kind of encouragement. Dave knows, now more than ever, that the system thrives on that kind of manufactured optimism, the undying illusion of hope.

And of course everyone buys into the fantasy; in the absence of anything else  _real_ , what the fuck else is there? He hasn't lost that hope himself, yet.

He already has his buds in his ears, but he can still hear the trail of whispered words in his wake – just like he can feel the eyes on him - as he continues on his path.

"Hey man, you okay?"

Azimio is there in front of him, an unavoidable yellow roadblock. Dave lifts his gaze slowly from the shiny floor to look at him. Despite the concern in his narrowed eyes, the words still somehow manage to sound more like a threat than a question.

Dave lifts his bandaged hand and lets his eyes close for a second as he sighs; he's not okay, but he doesn't have the will right now, or the energy, to formulate any kind of floor-appropriate response. All he can do his shake his head no, eyes dropping back to the floor, as he sidesteps Az and keeps heading up the seemingly endless walkway towards his bike.

* * *

_**1,000,000** _

"You're lucky, it's a beautiful day."

Kurt starts at the voice coming from the doorway and turns, hand still raised to guard his eyes as he blinks against the continuing onslaught of light, to find the outline of Blaine standing there, just like he was before.

"What's  _wrong_  with this vis-wall?" Is all Kurt can manage to say as he feels his eyes start to sting and stream against the auroral assault.

"It's not a vis-wall, silly." Blaine chuckles then stills, "Oh, shit. Yeah...hold on, give me one sec—"

The boy disappears but quickly returns, flinging a pair of plastic glasses in Kurt's general direction. He looks down at them, puzzled, as they land on the bed with a soft thud.

"Put them on. They're sunglasses, they'll protect your eyes until you're used to the sunlight."

 _Sunlight?_  Kurt reaches for them, his mind reeling anew as he fumbles to unfold the red plastic legs. His Counter has worn glasses like this before, but he, evidently, has not.

"Here," Blaine steps closer, "let me?"

Kurt blinks up at him, shards of offending light still stabbing at his vision. He nods and hands the glasses back to Blaine, who unfolds the legs with ease and slides them over the bridge of Kurt's nose and onto his face, each curved length of plastic hooking easily behind his ears, keeping them in place. His vision darkens all of a sudden, though a single dot of white light remains, floating in his line of sight, as the world comes into smoky grey focus.

"Better?" Blaine asks, lips curved in a questioning smile, his eyes wide and bright, seemingly unaffected by the harshness of the light. He looks different, Kurt notes; his hair is combed and side parted, shiny with some kind of product that smoothes it out and holds the previously soft curls in place. His clothes are different too – Kurt's eyes are cast down and he notices that he's wearing fitted blue jeans and red shoes, not sneakers, without socks. Tucked into the jeans is a blue and red gingham shirt, fastened at the neck with a bright red bowtie. Kurt blinks at him through the artificially dark lenses. He's never seen clothes like this – so colorful – in real life before; it's almost like he's looking at a life-size Counter, except  _not_ , because it all seems so  _real_. Part of him is tempted to just reach out and touch to make sure.

"It's okay, it's...strange, I know, I remember," he says, laying a gentle hand on Kurt's arm, well and truly confirming his physical presence, "but enjoy it. You'll never forget your first time."

Kurt feels his body stiffen as wonder gives way to probability, the meaning of the statement gelling all too well with the reality of why he's here. He shrinks back from the touch, his mind supplying tawdry ideas, images, of just what first time – first  _times_  – he might be compelled to remember if he stays here.

Blaine quickly withdraws his hand in understanding, holding it up, fingers splayed in protest of the thought before he gestures back towards the light. "Your first time seeing it," he amends, "the view."

The view. He feels slight relief as the knot of nerves in his stomach gives and rises to his chest, encouraging his heart to beat a little faster. He's almost afraid to look; he's always dreamt of seeing it. It never seemed real in the movies – too easy to fake, to replicate, just like everything else, and now, here it is, right in front of him. A symbol that he's actually here, a symbol of everything he still can't have. A little overwhelmed, all he can do is nod back at the other boy. "The...view."

Blaine smiles at him again, wide and almost as bright as the light that's still stinging at the corners of his eyes. "You...know about the view from the edge, right?" He looks momentarily bemused as he asks, dark brows drawn in confusion.

Kurt's still grappling for words as his body relaxes, a little. He rolls his eyes at himself. In any other situation, he'd be mortified by his newfound ineloquence.

"Yeah, of course, but..." Kurt trails off as he feels his face begin to flush. He feels so stupid; of course he knows about the view. He just didn't know he'd have a window to the outside world in his  _bedroom_. Not right away. "It's just all...a little surreal."

"I know. But this is it, Kurt. You've made it. You have a  _view_. You get to see the sun shine and the rain fall; you get to look at the outside world, see the seasons change. You get to see our history, every day, right from the comfort of your own home." Blaine looks wistfully out of the window as they stand in charged silence for a while before he continues, "I don't know how you could even think about giving this up. Isn't this what you always wanted?"

Kurt only huffs in response to that. Because oh, how he wishes it were just that simple.

He edges forward and braces himself – for shock, awe, maybe even disappointment – as he faces the wide glass panel, the  _window_ , and allows himself to look. The skin on his bare arms prickles despite the warmth and he feels overwhelmed all over again. This isn't the virtual sunrise he's used to seeing. This isn't a program or a theme; this is the real thing. Through the tinted lens of the sunglasses, he begins to take it all in. The first thing that strikes him is that the clouds are less fluffy than the approximations he's seen before; they're thin and grey, stretched almost shapelessly across the murky blue sky. And the sun isn't the yellow ball he's come to know; there's no smiley face, no pointed rays or discernible fiery surface. Instead, it shines from a barely perceptible place, dazzling beams of light through the gaps in the clouds, a little more white than yellow, and brighter than any vis-wall, any overhead fluorescent bulb, he's ever seen.

His eyes roam to the space beneath the sky that stretches out, seemingly endlessly, beyond the base of the window. When he looks downwards through the glass, Kurt can see a muted stretch of almost indistinguishable greens and browns that reach all the way out to a distant horizon. Trees, he thinks, with a little thrill of wonder. Real,  _live_  trees and shrubs and grass, all swaying softly in the outside air. Air that he'll never be able to breathe, but still. He feels a traitorous smile spread across his lips. Even though he's seen it on stream, in movies - all of  _this_  - he's read about it, here and now it seems so different. Right here, right now, it's all so breathtakingly  _real_.

This isn't a dream anymore. Not any of it. He knows, now, that it's not even a nightmare. It's all just startlingly, terrifyingly real; this new world stretched out before him. Full of newness and first times; full of beleaguered promise. This was supposed to be the start of his new wonderful life, the one he'd always dreamed of ( _relied_  on) having, the one he (and  _Dave_ ) had worked hard for.

Instead, after eighteen years of dreaming of a better future, he never expected to be here, now, yearning for the past.

He feels the threat of tears and he sets his jaw, taking a steely breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. He's all of a sudden grateful for not just the shade, but the privacy, the big-framed glasses offer.

"Hey," Blaine says softly, turning towards him again, wearing that same earnest expression as before. He gives Kurt's shoulder a gentle, reassuring, squeeze, "I'll give you a minute, okay? Then we'll get you ready for your first trip to the Arcade."

"The Arcade?" Kurt asks as he turns away from the view and sniffs, trying to convince himself that the tightness he feels at the bridge of his nose is just the pinching plastic of the unfamiliar glasses. "I can't...I just need to—"

"Under orders, remember?" Blaine cuts him off as he begins to back away, lips quirking back into a playful smile. "We'll get you something to match your new shades."

"No," Kurt reaches instinctively for the glasses, but finds his hand stilling before it makes it all the way, wary of exposing his eyes to the light, among other things, "I don't want this, Blaine. Not like this."

"Okay, but whatever else happens, you might as well enjoy the time you have here, right?" He counters with a goofy smile before disappearing down the hall. And isn't that what he's afraid of? Because  _this_   _is_ almost everything he ever wanted.

Almost, he reminds himself, but not quite.

Kurt turns his gaze back out towards the strange new view as those words play on his mind. Maybe Blaine is right. About that, at least. He knows he just has to get through this part, this day, but there's no real reason for him not to make the most of it, while he can. He'll let himself have a little glimpse at this world: something he can remember, share with Dave, when he gets back, so he knows that his effort, his credits, his generosity were all worth  _something_. He'll take this little taste of the future, because right now, he knows there's no use dwelling on the past; all he can do is stay focussed on the present.

* * *

_**-92,767** _

"I'm disappointed in your boy, Karofsky. Was that—" Santana scoots into the space between his and Nick's – happily still empty – bike. She's raising her bottle of Vita-water to her lips when her eyes catch his trussed-up hand and she stills before taking a sip. "What the fuck happened to you?"

Of everyone here on the floor, he know Santana's the only one who knows just how  _this_  feels, yet he can't bring himself to look her in the eye. The effect of the pain pills has already waned beyond effect and it's all he can do just to focus on  _that_  pain; the dull, ceaseless pulse in his hand rather than the interminable ache in his chest.

"I lost it," he manages to say, voice threatening to break as he looks at her, "I lost him—"

"Shit," she mutters, pursing her lips in thought as her eyes flit to a spot behind him, forewarning an approach that he knows won't good, "we'll talk later, ok?"

He nods and trains his tearful eyes back on his screen, willing his body to man the fuck up already.

"Hey 'Tana," Nick says as he climbs onto his bike, a little too loudly, tone a little too cheerful for someone who's far from a friend. Dave doesn't look up, and he doesn't hear any response.

"You see  _Star Shot_  last night?"

This time, she replies instantly. "I don't watch that shitfest."

"Shame," Nick says and turns his eyes towards Dave. Even through his peripheral vision he can see the sly smirk on his lips, the malice clear in his eyes as well as his words, "apparently the little fairy that bagged a  _Puck's Play_  gig used to be on this floor."

Santana says nothing but Nick laughs like he's just doled out the punchline to a private joke.

"I fucking hate fags, but shit, he kinda looked like a girl, didn't he? Sounded like a girl, too – and that's what  _you're_ into, right? – maybe I'll watch him on  _Play_ , see if he takes cock like a girl too."

There's a giggle from behind him then, a yowl of jarring laughter that hurts almost as much as the throbbing in his fist. Dave feels his eyes burn and his body tremble with rage. Santana talks back this time, something harsh and hushed that he doesn't quite catch. He focuses on his right hand as it twitches, aches, to react to those words in a way he knows his mouth can't.

But he doesn't react. Not this time. Instead, he clutches his good hand onto the handlebar of his bike with bruising force and keeps his unblinking eyes on the straight, undending virtual road in front of him.

* * *

_**994,945** _

"But...a million credits?" Kurt queries again as he sits tentatively on the edge of Blaine's bed. He's relented to tag along on Blaine's shopping trip before their meeting with Noah Puckerman, but just as an observer. As much as Kurt wants to go to the Arcade, to spend credits on actual clothes that he can wear and sort and accessorize, his reason is still doing battle with his subconscious in order to quell the thrill of excitement that rises in him at just that prospect. He knows he can't afford to get carried away, and not just because of the credits.

"It's just a signing bonus. You need something to get you started. It's just like it is on the floor; nothing's free. And here," Blaine pauses to rifle through the kind of closet Kurt has only even seen in v-form before this, "it's all pretty expensive. But just wait until we get you downtown," he beams, "it's all totally worth the expense."

He has no real grounds for argument there, aside from the fact that he doesn't plan to stay. The shower he just had was a testament both the luxury and the expense of this place. Five  _thousand_  credits for a hot shower as opposed to his usual two-hundred and forty-five credit morning regime. But it did help him relax, a little. The wetroom was practically the size of floor's refectory – all sparkling chrome and glass and  _sunlight_  –and he can still feel the tingle of the pounding hot water, the smell of the gloriously luxe bodywash on his skin. "But I haven't done anything to earn it. And I've told you, I don't plan to."

Blaine shrugs. "That's between you and Noah, but it's pretty standard. It's all in the contract."

"Oh yes, the contract I only agreed to because I wasn't quite  _compos mentis_ , and that I still haven't seen while sober." Kurt says with chagrin. Blaine seemed to think a copy of the contract would be in his inbox by now, and he's more than keen to see – now that his mind is once again his own – in hi-def black and white just what he's gotten himself into so that he can start trying to get himself out of it.

" _But_  until you get things all straightened out with Noah, you have to at least try to fit in." The boy looks over his shoulder at Kurt and pauses, pursing his lips before going on. "No offense, Kurt, but you do...kind of need some work."

"I do?" Kurt crosses his legs as he perches on Blaine's bed, self-consciousness coloring his cheeks. He knows it's true, though. He's come here with just the clothes on his back, and, even though he's showered, he's back in the clothes he's been wearing since the previous day; the sweats he's travelled to the edge in, that David had slipped his hands, his lips, under to touch and taste; the ones he'd performed in, slept in. The same grey leisurewear that he's become begrudgingly accustomed to. He can't deny that a day of something different, something clean and colorful, wouldn't be unwelcome, but it all feels bittersweet:  _Here's what you could've won!_  He glances down, wrinkling his nose at himself as he uncrosses his legs.

"You can wear something of mine, but only until you buy something for yourself." Blaine opens a second door to reveal more rows of neatly placed, colorful clothing. "Deal?"

Kurt finds himself smiling at the boy's insistence and feels his resolve begin to waiver. Maybe he can get a few things, just so he knows what it's like, in case he never gets to...He shakes his head and stops that train of thought. "This is already like being at the v-mall."

"Oh, this is nothing," Blaine's eyes light up and he turns back towards the closet, rifling through the lower rail, "wait 'til we get to the Arcade. Not that a million will get you very far—"

He wants,  _desperately_ , to visit the Arcade. He's seen it on stream. It's where the stars shop; he watched a whole hour-long Rachel Berry  _Dream Stream_  special once that just followed her on a trip there. It looked incredible.

"—it's practically my second home," Blaine continues to mutter from his crouched position, then turns, holding up a pair of slim-legged burgundy colored pants for inspection. "Sebastian thinks I have a problem, but really, I just like having nice things."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Kurt says, feeling suddenly envious of Blaine for his flippancy, his easy acceptance of this...lifestyle, "if you can afford it."

"Exactly! I knew we'd get along," Blaine winks at him and drapes a deep green, v-necked sweater over the burgundy pants. "How's this?"

Kurt feels his eyes bug a little at the idea of actually wearing something so...interesting. Not that his Counter hasn't always been somewhat on the flamboyant side, but still. This isn't the v-mall, and he isn't just dressing his Counter.

"What?" Blaine asks, seemingly bemused again by Kurt's expression. "The palette suits your skin tone and this green, especially, will really make your eyes pop."

Kurt has to bite back a smile at the compliment as he assures himself the little thrum he feels in his veins is just down to nervous tension, to fear of the unknown. He's thought about this so many times; about dressing up and having someone, a friend, to share this stuff with. Maybe this isn't how he wanted to get here, but now that he is here, until he manages to get things straightened out with Puckerman, things could be worse, right?

"I'm not sure about those pants."

"No?"

"They seem like they'd be a little..."

"A little...?" Blaine prompts, eyes narrowed, amusement belying his feigned upset.

"Too tight. And I'm not sure about that color..." Kurt says, biting his bottom lip to suppress a wicked smile. "And...maybe on the short side for me?"

"Fine then," Blaine says and throws the pants at Kurt with mock offence, "take your pick." He throws himself down beside Kurt on the bed, crosses his legs and takes a sip from the small, red juicebox that was resting on his bedside table. "But you should know," he looks up at Kurt through a fan of dark lashes, "despite my job, I don't let just anyone into my pants."

Blaine then collapses in a fit of giggles and Kurt feels compelled to join him; it's the most relaxed, relieved, he's felt since he got here. He's never laughed, like this,  _really_  laughed, with anyone but David or his Dad. And it's almost nice. Even if he never gets to have anyof it again, at least he can remember what it felt like, this one time, to have a view from the edge, a cache full of credits and a cute boy in his room.

As he's pushed towards the closet to explore the rails for pants that pass muster, he's jarred a little by that thought; he thinks he could grow to like Blaine, given time. He feels a jolt of regret pass through him at this whole sorry situation. Just like his Dad had told him,  _this_  was supposed to be when and where he made friends and had relationships. Not before, on the floor, where it wasn't even allowed.

Kurt looks back over his shoulder at the smiling boy draped across the bed behind him but, even given his current  _situation_ , he can't bring himself to regret that he didn't take his Dad's advice. Blaine  _is_  kind of cute. And seems sweet and funny. Stylish, even; but he's certainly no David Karofsky.

* * *

_**-69,447** _

"Hey Karofsky!"

Dave tries to ignore his bikemate's call, along with the accompanying wolf-whistle, and keeps his gaze fixed straight ahead, looking at the vendor as he waves his undamaged left hand meekly in front of the panel. Painkillers, plain water and a protein bar; that's all he's allowed now that he's back in the red. It'll be into tomorrow before he's back into credit, not that he'll be buying anything different then. He knows that, now especially, he has to save every credit he can.

"Karofsky! I'm talking to you!" Nick hollers again, his new found cronies giggling beside him, perched on either side of the refectory table. Dave clenches his jaw and closes his eyes. He doesn't want to react, to let them get to him. He bites down on the inside of his jaw and pulls in a shaky breath through his nose before reopening his eyes.

"Where were you yesterday?"

"That's none of your business." Dave replies without looking Nick's way, swallowing back the pills with a slug of water.

"We all thought thought maybe you'd tagged along with your faggy little boyfriend and then when we saw your hand we thought maybe you'd tried to grab a freebie."

There's another ripple of childish laughter and Dave feels himself grimace as he struggles to keep his mouth in check. He heads back towards the exit. He'd rather eat on his bike than put up with this shit, Santana can wait.

"Guess your little cock-whore boyfriend doesn't need your sorry ass now that— "

"What did you call him?"

The incessant giggling stops sharply as Dave turns to speak but the smug smile remains fixed on Nick's face as he stands up from his seat.

"I  _called_  him," Nick pauses and moves away from the bench, "a dirty...filthy...faggy..." he continues to pause after each word; matching each ugly name with a slow, determined stride in Dave's direction, "cock-hungry... little...whore."

Dave clenches his teeth as his heart pounds hard, too high, in his chest. This is what he wanted to avoid – the name-calling, the mockery. Because he knows it'll only get worse from here on in, if he lets it. And if he can't join them, then he knows, too, from experience that there's only one thing left for him to do.

Nick stops right in front of him; shoulders squared and chin up, so they're almost standing nose to nose. "Just like you."

"That so?" David asks, his undamaged hand clutching too tightly at the bottle in his grip. He can almost feel the blood rushing to his head, blurring his vision.

"Yeah, it is," he replies, barely a whisper in the sudden silence that surrounds them. Nick raises both his hands, smile gone, and shoves firmly at Dave's chest before continuing in a soft, steady drawl, "and, I was just  _saying,_  that you've served your purpose. He won't need your sorry ass anymore, now that he'll be too busy getting butt-fucked by every other faggy edge-whore out there."

That's when Dave sees red again.

The adrenalin flows through his blood in a sudden rush; he moves automatically, driven by the fury he feels inside at those words, that  _image_. Nothing will ever give anyone the right to talk about Kurt like that. Even if he did, if he  _does_ — no, Dave can't let himself go there, not yet – nothing Kurt could ever do would make any of what Nick said okay.

It all becomes easy, after that first push. Too easy, as Nick comes at him again, and Dave's only good hand drops the water bottle and winds into a fist, slamming into Nick's gut. The unexpected motion winds the other boy, who doubles up on reflex, and before he knows he's even moved again, Dave has the asshole in a chokehold, his bandaged hand tucked under Nick's chin as his left fist connects with the fucker's face. That's when Dave hears more than feels it; the gurgling sound Nick makes as something cracks, pops, inside.

"You know what they called me back in school?" Dave asks then, voice straining in exertion as he tightens his hold around the boy's thick neck, squeezing, almost enjoying the color that blooms on his face: the red veins bulging in his eyes, the panicked purple flush of his face, the crimson flood of blood from his nose, his newly busted lip. "Back then, back on the football team, they didn't call me  _fag_ , or  _fairy._ " Dave isn't sure where the words are flowing from; some deep, long-buried part of himself, from that time in his past he's divorced himself from, until now.

Nick responds only by choking on his own blood, spraying it out so it makes a spattered polka dot pattern on the pristine white dressing covering the hand Dave's using to hold his chin up. None of his friends come to his defence.

"No," Dave continues, tightening the strangle hold, jerking Nick's neck up, forcing their eyes to meet, "they called me The  _Fury_."

And as he watches, listens, for any kind of response, Dave becomes aware through the adrenalin smog of that too-familiar ring of an alarm. It dawns on him in a sobering rush of realization that now,  _this_  is what that means, the red flash, the warning tone; a spark of rage, a stab of pain, changed so quickly from the saliva-wet kisses and jelly legs that used to come before a warning, a breach notice, a penalty.

"Now you know why," he says, voice breaking a little, as he drops Nick from his grasp, coming back into himself, wiping a bruised and bloodied hand on his t-shirt as he looks down at the battered boy on his knees in front of him. He doesn't feel any regret at the sight, he doesn't feel shame; if anything – just like every other time he's broken the rules – he just wants  _more_. "You're fucking lucky I couldn't use my right hand."

He moves away from Nick then, he has to get away from this feeling that makes him want to shout and scream, to hit and to hurt. It makes him feel weak and strong all at once; it gives him some semblance of control in a world that otherwise affords him no power.

And, while he realizes just how different  _this_  kind of adrenal hit is to the other kind of feeling – the  _Kurt_  kind, that made him feel whole and happy inside – as he walks away he's suddenly all too aware of that little part of himself that he knows could grow to like this, to crave it, almost as much.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More ANGST. But really, I'd be doing us all a disservice if I just skipped past it at this stage. It's all important for the characters and their story and, just remember, there will be a happy ending! That said, the response for the last chapter was overwhelmingly positive, so thank you for that, and thanks for all the well-wishes. This picks up where we left off last time. Please continue to let me know what you think.
> 
> Warnings: Angst, a little Seblaine.

_**984,495** _

They're taking a buggy downtown – Blaine tells him it's the quickest and easiest (though apparently not the cheapest) method of travelling around the various zones of the edge. When they exit the spacious yet comfortingly familiar elevator from the apartment on floor  _275_ and cross the pristine white lobby to the exit, the small, bug-like automated car is already waiting for them; twin leather seats, tinted windows and all.

As they ride, Kurt's a little shocked at how surprised he is that this place is so  _big_. He's seen snippets of it on stream all his life, but it hadn't quite prepared him for the reality. Every pathway, every corridor, is bigger, wider, brighter, than anything back in the mid-zones. It truly does feel like he's been transported to another world. The area around the pathway they're on reminds him vaguely of the main entryway between zones; it's vast and bustling with people and buggies, every inch of the sprawling wall-space is covered with ads and tickertapes and signs to other edge-zones. It all flashes by in a dizzying whir of alien color and distant sound. He feels small and slightly out of place, even dressed as he is in Blaine's ill-fitting clothes, like somehow, even at a glance, everyone will know that he's here under false pretences; that he doesn't really belong.

Blaine chatters animatedly by his side as they travel; he tells him about the alternate dashboard they use here, that it would be considered vulgar for high earners to keep so many digits on show, so their credits are cached and displayed only when requested, just like messages and alerts. Kurt has plenty of questions, but he leaves them mostly unasked. He guesses he doesn't really need to know if he won't be staying long enough to find out the answers for himself.

When they disembark at the mall, Blaine makes a beeline for the Arcade and Kurt has to make an effort to keep up with him, as well as to keep his jaw from dropping as they pass various cartoon-bright vendors and decadent looking stores on their path. It all feels surreal again; like he's been shrunk and digitised, thrown into this illusory world in place of his own Counter. Except he's well aware that this isn't a program; there's no easy escape function, no penalty he can pay to skip forward. And, as they approach the Arcade's lavish fascia, he's not sure he would skip this part even if he could.

"The Arcade has restricted access," Blaine tells him as he swipes his hand in front of a large panel, emblazoned with the tastefully elegant logo of the elite department store, to gain access. He knows he shouldn't really be here, but he can't fight the guilty butterflies he feels flutter in his stomach; the Arcade embodies something Kurt always thought he'd love about being a star, about living at the edge; exclusivity and luxury, combined. "You're here as my guest, obviously. But it'll costs you twenty-five for a pass of your own."

"Twenty five thousand?" Kurt asks as the doors slide open.

"Twenty five  _million_ ," Blaine corrects and mimics Kurt's stunned expression, raises his forefinger to his chin and pushing upwards to close his slack jaw before going on, "but you'll make that in no time, if you stay."

Kurt only huffs and shakes his head in protest, fighting the blush that threatens to color his skin, as they pass through the wide, gold-rimmed entryway. Beholden to its name, the Arcade stretches out in a long, wide gallery before them. It looks like something Kurt might have seen in history class, something from the old-world but with a familiar modern twist; the high arched ceilings are supported by wide, round illuminated beams and, unlike the pristine white sharpness of the mall outside, the palette here seems more muted and warm; a creamy expanse with rich, gilded edges. Kurt bites his bottom lip to stop his jaw from dropping again as he takes in the displays at either side of walkway: vast rows of vendors show items he can't even name alongside  _actual_  rails of  _actual_  clothing, the likes of which Kurt has never seen; there's not an item of grey, stretch-jersey in sight and he finds his fingers itching to just  _feel_ the different textures and fabrics. Blaine matches his slow walk and grins at him, pointing to an immense window at the distant end, giving Kurt a moment to absorb the setting before pulling him towards an artful display of sweater-vests.

Not five minutes pass before Blaine has several item in his bag, each more expensive that the last. If Kurt once thought he had expensive taste in clothes for his Counter, Blaine makes him look positively thrifty.

"That shirt costs more than I make in a week." Kurt says, more in awe than anything else, as Blaine circum-navigates several displays to swipe the back of his hand across the panel of yet another rail of spiffy, striped shirts. Kurt hasn't even seen a single item here that's priced at less than a hundred and fifty thousand. And that was only a scarf. "How do you afford all this... _stuff_?"

"How did you pay for your  _Counter Couture_?"

"By pedalling."

"Exactly. I work, Kurt," Blaine says with a little shrug as the rail spins to reveal the right size of shirt, propelling it to the front of the display for him to catch, "and, people  _really_  like what I do."

Kurt only gives a small nod at that, his jaw working, not quite looking the other boy in the eye. Under the circumstances, he doesn't want to think too much about Blaine  _working_.

"Jeez, don't be such a prude," Blaine laughs and bumps Kurt with his shoulder, "I'm good at it and I get paid well for it. People  _love_  me. I'm not ashamed of that." He pauses briefly to glance at Kurt, eyes narrowing a little before he continues, still smiling. "I don't mean to brag or anything, but I have one of the most successful solo-streams on  _Play_."

Kurt falters. He had never really thought that the guys who do what Blaine does might be just as successful in their own field – just as well-rewarded, just as idolized and adored – as the Rachel Berry's of the world.

Truth be told, he'd always purposely tried not to think too much about these guys at all when he was...being entertained by them. These people he watched, fantasized about,  _jerked off_  to, on stream – he feels ashamed to admit to even himself as he stands here with one of them – just never seemed like  _real_  people. Kurt had kept them in the realm of fantasy characters. He had never once let it cross his mind that they could be guys like him – with mothers and fathers and boyfriends and feelings and hopes and fears and dreams – who had just grabbed their chance to get off the floor, even if it wasn't exactly what they'd always wanted.

This little peak into the world of  _Blaine Anderson – Porn Star_  was certainly going a long way towards changing that view. He feels his face flush anew, this time more from shame at his narrow outlook than from his own discomfiture.

"Do you know how many subscribers my individual stream on  _Puck's Play_  has?" Blaine stops examining the blue and silver-grey houndstooth shirt in his hands and looks up at Kurt with a wicked glint in his dark hazel eyes.

Kurt can't help but show a small smile in return. "Um...a few thousand?" He knows it's a conservative guess, but from what little he knows of Blaine so far, it doesn't sound like he really needs any help in the ego department.

"Oh, gee, thanks Kurt." Blaine swipes the shirt's tag across the panel and pops it into the proffered bag. He stills and directs on over-exaggerated pout towards Kurt. "Then I guess you aren't one of them?"

Kurt doesn't answer, just rolls his eyes as the heat remains in his cheeks. He feels a little spike of jealousy, too, because he thinks he knows who  _might_  be one of his subscribers: David. That distant flash of Blaine's face on Dave's mirrorscreen pops helpfully back into his mind as an aide memoire.  _His_  David.

"Almost five-hundred thousand. And that's just my solo stuff."

Kurt looks away, eyes an adjoining rack of knitwear and runs his fingers slowly over a particularly soft, pale blue argyle-patterned sweater. "What about...your other stuff?"

"Well, I haven't been doing that for quite so long." Blaine approaches and nods in approval at the sweater before looking at him. "That's partly why you're here. Or, why you were supposed to be—"

"Blaine..."

"What?" Blaine says and pushes him towards a full length mirrorscreen, holding the sweater up under Kurt's chin as he appraises the reflection. "You can't deny we look cute together."

" _I_  look cute," Kurt says, after a beat, his personality breaking through his apprehension as he tilts his chin up, haughtily; eyes widening a little at the undeniably appealing sight of the azure sweater against his pale skin. He's drawn back to their conversation back at the apartments and decides to return Blaine's  _compliment_ , "You, on the other hand, look like you could use a little work."

"Oh, really?"

Kurt's feels his lips twitch towards a sideways smile as he does his best ignore the myriad images of matching items that pop up around the periphery of the mirrorscreen and turns with the intention of setting the sweater back onto the shiny golden rail. "I mean,  _no offence_ , or anything."

"Oh, none taken." Blaine says, a little too smoothly, before grabbing first the sweater, then Kurt's hand, swiping them each in turn against the panel on the display unit, giggling all the while.

"Stop that!" Kurt snatches the garment from Blaine's grasp but can't stifle a giggle of his own as a model Counter appears on the display, twirling, hand on hip, wearing the virtual version of the same sweater: * _ **Purchase Confirmed – 250,000C***_

"Oops," Blaine says, feigning innocence, as he grabs the small golden bag dispensed from a space under the screen and motions for Kurt to put the item of clothing inside. "Looks like you just made your first official purchase."

* * *

_**-338,750** _

"You ready to talk about this shit yet?"

Dave sighs and looks at her. He knows his gaze is harder than it should to be, but she matches it with her own stone-cold stare for a solid minute before she leans forward and starts to speak.

"I can't make it right, but I can tell you it gets easier. I mean, you'll watch, at first. You'll torture yourself, waste all your credits—"

"Fuck, I can't talk about this  _now_ , Santana, I—"

She raises her hands in surrender, "Okay."

"Please. Shit, I can't even—"

" _Okay_ , Davey." She raises her voice and kicks at his shin under the table. "I'll drop it. Jeez."

Santana had all but dragged him out the restroom and back to the refectory after his run in with Nick. All he wanted to do was clean up and get back to the floor to pedal but she wouldn't take no for an answer and he wasn't ready to fight her too.

He takes another bite of his protein bar and chews rhythmically, trying to push Santana's words out of his mind. He knows she's his best – his only – source of any comfort, any counsel, in this situation, but he's not ready to deal with it while Nick's hateful words still ring in his mind.

"You're lucky the Guard didn't have to come," she changes the subject after a minute of silence, pouty lips betraying her reproach as they creep sideways in clear amusement. "Apparently, you broke his nose."

"Good," is all Dave says in muffled response as he continues to eat. Even though Nick hasn't come back from the med centre yet to confirm it, he knows he did. He recognised the snapping sound, the pop of something breaking, wet and painful, under his fist. He's heard it before.

It hadn't been his intention, though. Not at all. All he wanted was to get through the day without ending up in a broken heap himself. Nick had just become a casualty of his will to protect Kurt – to protect himself, too – in the only way he knows he can, now.

"So, how much?" Santana asks, stopping him before he has a chance to get lost in his own head again.

"What?"

"How much did it cost you? The penalty?"

"Two-fifty." He says almost sheepishly, shoving the remainder of the dry, no-brand bar into his mouth.

"Ouch. You were already, what, a hundred down? It's gonna take you a while to get outta that red now."

He huffs at her. Like he doesn't know that much. "Well, it was worth every fucking credit."

"It was?" She arches an eyebrow and smirks at him again. He's still unsure, at times like this, whether Santana's really trying to be his friend or whether her brand of misery just likes company. "I didn't hear what he said."

"And you never will," Dave says as he stands to leave the refectory, tossing the plastic wrapper in the general direction of the girl in the yellow jumpsuit, speaking loud enough so everyone else who he  _knows_  has been watching, listening, can hear, "'cause I made sure he'll never open his dumbass mouth to say anything about Kurt or me ever again."

* * *

_**709,445** _

They enter the Arcade's restaurant, which is situated on a mezzanine floor by the massive window at the back of the store. It looks achingly glamorous to Kurt; more modern than the shopfloor, every discernible surface is covered with shiny white vis-glass that sparkles as it picks up the sunlight beaming through the window. The semi-circle shaped room is lined with spacious booths that provide shade from the light and, he can see from the few that are occupied, that they each come replete with their own customizable themes and tabletop panels.

His eyes are already more accustomed to the light, now, so he leaves the sunglasses where they're currently stowed in his –  _Blaine's_  – jacket pocket, squinting to observe the circular bar that dominates the middle of the room as he shuffles along behind an enthusiastic Blaine.

"This is—" Blaine starts to say with a beaming grin and a feint blush, as they approach the classically handsome boy who's seated at a well-placed booth near the back of the room. Even sitting, it's clear to see that he's head and shoulders taller than Blaine and undoubtedly lean underneath the crisp white shirt and navy blue blazer he's wearing. His sandy brown hair is side parted, styled within an inch of its life and stiff-looking but smart, and his green eyes twinkle as he stands, none too subtly undressing Blaine with those eyes before wrapping a hand possessively around the smaller boy's waist and pulling him in for a kiss before he can finish his introduction.

There's no sign of Puckerman but this, he guesses, is Sebastian.

Kurt stands aside, toying with the stiff stringy handle of the boutique bag in his hand, and watches them share their kiss. And  _what_  a kiss: immodest to the point of pornographic – and isn't  _that_  fitting? – all teeth and tongue, each boy applying visible suction and giving audible assent in reply to the ministrations of the other. It  _might_  seem wholly inappropriate - Kurt's reminded of the couple in the  _Star Shot_  green room, going at it without fear - if he only had any real idea of what appropriate actually means here.

Not that  _he's_  been any great upholder of propriety lately, he thinks to himself. At least, not where David Karofsky's concerned. The still-fresh memory of their time together in the  _Star_   _Shot_  holding room comes back to him; kissing, touching,  _coming_ —

Kurt licks his lips and feels his cheeks tingle with heat for the umpteenth time today – less from the sight of the activity he's observing, more from the memories it conjures up – as he continues to watch his two new acquaintances get more acquainted with each other, blissfully uninterrupted by a red warning sign or an alarm or a guard officer. He tears his eyes briefly away to glance around the room and can't help but feel that pang of jealousy again, overtaking his budding arousal, at the  _easiness_  of it; the fact that none of the other patrons at the restaurant seem to care about the openly affectionate exchange or even notice it. The realization strikes Kurt that he'd do anything to have this with David.  _Anything_.

Except...well, except maybe the one thing that's available to him. He quickly shoves the thought aside as he goes back to watching maybe-Sebastian's hand trail low over Blaine's ass and squeeze, making the shorter boy gasp and pull back, eyes glazed with obvious arousal.

"Uh...this is Sebastian," Blaine finishes his earlier introduction, a little breathless, as he darts his eyes towards Kurt and tongues his reddened, saliva-damp lips. He gazes back up at Sebastian, motioning towards his near-forgotten companion, "and this, of course, is Kurt."

"So it is." Sebastian says with a little nod, stepping away from Blaine and sliding back into the booth. He looks at Kurt with a toothy smirk, but doesn't offer a standard greeting or a welcoming hand. "I saw your audition," he pauses and quirks his brow, leaning back in his seat, "but I almost didn't recognise you in  _people_  clothes."

Already irked by the lack of common courtesy, Kurt's a little taken aback by Sebastian's accompanying jibe. "And I almost didn't recognise you in clothes at all." He says, though it isn't strictly true; as with Blaine, there's something faintly familiar about the guy, but if he didn't already know what he did for a living, he wouldn't think he recognized him at all.

"Touche." Sebastian responds, watching Kurt, weighing him up, as he slides into the circular booth after Blaine. "So, what do you fine gentlemen want to drink?"

"Just the usual for me, please." Blaine says with ease as he activates the tabletop dash and scrolls lazily through the illuminated menu.

Sebastian looks at Kurt, expectant. "Um, I'll take a Vita-Water. Please."

"Nothing stronger?" He asks, ostensibly surprised.

"I want to keep a clear head."

"You newbs normally bite our hands off for some of the good stuff."

"Well," Kurt bristles, but decides that employing the Santana-technique is probably best for dealing with Sebastian's brand of thinly-veiled hostility. He plasters a fake smile back onto his face, "not this newb."

"Aw, does that mean no biting, either?"

"Seb..." Blaine chides his boyfriend, fondly batting at his forearm as he shoots Kurt an apologetic look. "He's just teasing."

"Ha," Kurt huffs out a half-hearted bark of laughter, letting the affected smile fall quickly from his lips.

"Shame." Sebastian says with a wink before turning his attention towards the table and frowning. "What I want is off menu, I'll be back in a sec," he sighs and slides out of his seat, heading in the direction of the bar.

"So," Blaine looks excitedly at Kurt and asks, "what do you think?"

"Oh, this place is lovely."

"No, silly. About Sebastian."

Kurt feels his eyes widen. "He seems like...quite the charmer."

"He's harmless," Blaine says, trailing Sebastian with hungry eyes as he struts self-assuredly across the room. His lips curve into a small, almost imperceptible, smile and he adds, quietly, "—mostly."

Kurt suppresses the urge to roll his eyes at that and decides it's probably best to keep his opinion to himself. They sit in amiable silence for the short time it takes for Sebastian to return and Kurt tries to enjoy the ambience of the place while wondering idly if, when they were together on the floor, he ever looked at David the way Blaine is looking at Sebastian. The idea makes his lips twitch into a small, secret smile of his own.

"Here we are, boys," Sebastian returns and deposits a tray of drinks onto the table: two small, seemingly unlabelled, cartons – one red, like the one Blaine had been drinking back at the apartment, and one black – alongside his own pleasantly recognizable bottle of very berry Vita-Water, as well as three frosty-looking glasses filled with crushed ice. Sebastian decants the drinks in turn and passes them around before lifting his own with a flourish. "To the glamorous life."

"The glamorous life!" Blaine chimes and the two boys bump their glasses together before each taking a small sip. Kurt's doesn't join them in their toast and, though he's curious, he doesn't ask what they're drinking; he's sure that he really doesn't need to know.

* * *

_**-328,881** _

"Oh, hey Nick," Santana greets the wounded boy as he approaches his bike, her tone saccharine sweet and just as synthetic, "you okay? I heard you had a little  _accident_  in the refectory?"

Dave can't help but look, assessing the damage he's done. Nick's posture has changed; his head hangs down, nose covered by a stiff white cast, bruise-purple rings peeking out at either side under bloodshot eyes. It crosses Dave's mind, then, that the last person he left a bruise on (besides himself) was Kurt, though under entirely different circumstances. He tries to push away the thrill of satisfaction he feels at both the sight of Nick, penitent, at his hand, and the memory of Kurt, willingly marked as  _his_.

Nick clambers onto his bike without acknowledging either Dave or Santana, his smart mouth remaining soundless as he keeps his eyes facing forward, lips set in an unwavering scowl.

Santana's looks past Nick at Dave and seems to catch the small smile he didn't realize he was showing. She winks at him before turning her attention back to Nick. "Aw, cat got your tongue, Nicky?"

Dave can't resist the urge to join her, the echo of those hurtful words still smarting. "Nothing to say now? You had plenty to say earlier, isn't that right?"

He looks at Dave a spits, "Fuck you."

"Nah," Dave says, emboldened again as his eyes catch sight of Santana – who looks strangely proud – before locking directly on Nick, "you're not my type."

* * *

 _ **704**_ , _ **445**_

The three boys sit sipping their drinks, blue-sky theme illuminating their booth, as Kurt learns about the pair's  _romantic_  courtship ("I heard he was sex on a stick and could suck like a dream, so I just had to meet him") and Blaine prods Kurt for information about his own romantic endeavours, about David, and about his time on the floor, so that he can reminisce about, as he put it, 'the bad old times'.

Sebastian and Blaine exchange some chit-chat about people and places that mean little or nothing to Kurt, while flicking comfortably through the menus on the tabletop. Kurt mimics their actions, but he's never been to a place like this before, and it's all so very different to the vendors he's used to. He feels awkward again; a wonky third wheel where only two are required. "So," Kurt abandons the tabletop dashboard in favour his familiar drink, "when will Puckerman be joining us?" He's had a little fun, seen some sights, but now he just feels increasingly keen to get this whole thing over and done with.

"Seriously?" Sebastian asks in astonishment, eyeing Blaine with raised brows and that well-used smirk. Blaine looks quickly away and back down at his menu. Kurt's heart sinks as a still simpering Sebastian looks back at him and asks, "You didn't actually think he'd show, did you?"

"What does that mean?" There's a slight edge of panic in Kurt's voice as he directs the question more to Blaine than Sebastian, because, well,  _he's_  the one who said that Puck would be here in the first place.

"Kurt, I thought—"

"It means, princess," Sebastian cuts in, speaking in slow condescension,"that Noah's not coming. He's a busy man. He  _rarely_  meets with new starts unless they're really something special."

Kurt can't deny the wrench of disappointment he feels at the inference. "Then why am I even here?" Blaine's eyes are still set on table when Kurt directs the question to him, voice growing shrill with anger when he doesn't look up for a beat. The bastard; he fucking  _knew_. "Why did you tell me he'd be here?"

"No...I thought, really I did, Kurt, that he  _would_ —"

Sebastian cuts Blaine off again, though his tone remains leisurely and unconcerned as he explains, "This is your welcoming party: enjoy it. There'll be a message waiting for you, along with your contract, when you get back to the apartment."

"And you knew all this?" Kurt shrieks furiously towards Blaine. His heart is pounding hard, albeit somewhere around his knees.

"No,  _no_ , I swear, I though..." Kurt catches Sebastian raising his eyebrows in disbelief of Blaine's words, perma-smirk still in place, "...that he'd be here, this time. He seems to want big things for you and I really  _thought_ —"

"Well you thought  _wrong_ , Blaine!" Kurt stands abruptly, groaning in frustration as his mind begins to race. "I have to go. I have to speak to Puckerman."

As he tries to leave the booth, a previously unseen woman whom he assumes is a waitress, dressed in a pale yellow fitted dress, approaches them with a look of concern, her attention obviously drawn by the raised voices. Sebastian slides out of his seat and catches her by the arm, turning her away from the table as he whispers something into her ear. She nods and smiles nervously at him before making her way back towards the bar.

"How do I get to see him?" Kurt asks no one in particular, willing away the sting of tears he feels prickle behind his eyes. He feels like such a fool; so easily taken in by some credits and  _couture_  and a few kind words. When no one answers, he repeats the question loudly, his voice colored with panic, "Where do I go to see Puckerman?"

"You can't—"

As he pushes past Sebastian with a growl of frustration into the open area beyond the booth. He's suddenly, crushingly, aware that he has no idea where to go or how to even go  _about_  doing anything. He feels lost. He doesn't know how things here really work at all.

He takes a deep breath and feebly assures himself that he can still do this. He can still make everything alright.

"I'll take you back to the apartment." Blaine assures him, standing and briefly narrowing his eyes at Sebastian.

"No." Kurt huffs and turns away, walking aimlessly towards the restaurant's exit. All he needs is to talk to Puckerman, he tells himself, even as his lip trembles and the threatening tears start to blur his vision.

"Kurt, wait," Blaine comes after him and rests gentle hand on his elbow, "you won't even get out of this place on your own." Kurt hastily shakes off the touch, but he knows it's true. He's here as Blaine's guest, at his mercy. All he can do is glare back at the boy he thought, just hours,  _minutes_ , ago, might be his friend.

Blaine backtracks to grab his bags and mutters a terse goodbye to Sebastian before returning to Kurt's side and they begin to walk again. When he speaks, it's soft and has that same deceptive sincerity as before. "Come on, it'll be okay. You can call Noah from the apartment. Let's just wait and see what he has to say, huh?"

Kurt doesn't say anything else, just keeps his mouth closed and his eyes down as he follows Blaine begrudgingly back down travelator and up the walkway, out of the Arcade and past the mall, until they're back on the pathway that brought them here. Again, a buggy is already waiting for them, but he doesn't question it; too many other questions crowding his mind, now.

"Hey," Blaine says after a few minutes of whizzing past people he doesn't want to see, places he never wants to go. "I'm sorry. I'll make sure you talk to Noah. I swear."

Kurt looks at him. He still wants desperately to believe him. And, really, what other choice does he have? He has to get himself out of this and, as hard as he tries, he can't think of any other way how.

* * *

_**-288, 550** _

Dave strips to his shorts and flops down on his bed, foregoing a basic shower in favor of some much needed rest. Now that he's alone again in his pod there's no need for any of the bravado he's had to display all day to keep himself safe,  _sane_ , but as he lies on his back, waiting for lights out, the tears he felt like shedding earlier today still don't come.

Not that that means they won't; there's nothing to distract him from his thoughts now he's back in his pod except the default ad stream that's been playing on a loop since he first put his buds in this morning. The stock images displayed on his wrecked vis-wall are broken, barely coherent, no more than shards of color and movement, making the light it casts across the pod muted and eerie. Although he isn't missing anything; he's seen and heard the day stream default run so many times now it barely registers as anything other than white noise.

Instead of that sound, he tries to concentrate on the slow, steady beat of his heart – still working, despite how it feels – and the mismatching throb in his fist. He raises both hands up above his face to measure the damage he's done: one is broken and bandaged, the other bruised. He winces as he flexes the fingers on his left hand – as much from the sight of the brazen black  _Star Shot_  symbol tattoo as from the swelling in his knuckles above it – still aching slightly from the contact with Nick's face. He lets his hands fall back to his sides with a sigh. While he can't bring himself to regret his actions today, he's kind of glad that Kurt wasn't here to see him like this; he wonders if Kurt would be disappointed in him. Even though he'd watched him play football – even joked that he'd liked seeing him get rough with the other players – Kurt had always seemed to take pride in pointing out that Dave wasn't like those other  _Neanderthals_. He hopes that, under the circumstances, Kurt would understand the need for that to change.

It's a moot concern, anyway – he knows if Kurt were still here, it wouldn't have happened. The Fury would still be safely stowed away, otherwise occupied, and he'd be lying here now with Kurt's Counter on his screen, Kurt's voice in his ears and—

Kurt's voice. He can almost hear it.

No, he  _can_  hear it; not just in his mind, but filling his pod, echoing through the speakers in the vis-walls all around him. He blinks at the chrono on his dash: 21:08 – past time for the night stream switch – and feels his heart flutter a little before it sinks.

_***** _ _**#Oh, I´ll tell you something, I think you´ll understand...#** _

—  _ **The Star Shot logo fills the screen followed in rapid succession by the faces of the show's most recent successful auditionees. The voice-over roars –**_

" _ **Yesterday, they were just like you—"**_

_**Kurt Hummel: 'Rachel Berry's my inspiration...but I guess I just want to perform...'** _

_**Quinn Fabray** _ _**: 'I want to get out there and show the world that I'm more than just a pretty face...'** _

_**#Oh, please, say to me, You´ll let me be your man...#** _

"— _ **but just when it looked like their best wasn't good enough—"**_

_**Will Schuester: 'It's obvious that you have an exceptional voice...But I think we've seen your kind of vocalist here before...it's just not fresh...'** _

_**Sue Sylvester: 'You're a pretty girl, obviously smart, too...I just don't think people are ready to take a girl like you seriously on my stream...'** _

" _ **...two unlikely judges granted these hopefuls a second chance at stardom..."***_

Dave feels his stomach clench. It hurts just as much as he knew it would, to see Kurt there again, even if only in fragments. He still manages to look every bit as lost as Dave feels. He throws his right arm across his eyes and scrunches them shut against any remnants of sight.

***"View Obstructed. Resume ad stream or Pay to skip?"***

He can't watch, can't listen to this shit again. With his bandaged right hand shielding his eyes, he swipes blindly with his left, signalling to fast forward the ad.

***"Insufficient Credits. Resume Viewing. Resume Viewing. Resume Viewing..."***

Dave swallows painfully around the thick lump in his throat and, eventually,reluctantly drops his hand away from his eyes. He knows he has no choice but to let it play out; he can't afford to get into any more trouble.

_***#Yeah you got that something...#** _

_**Jesse St. James: 'You have this innocent beauty, but...there's something sexy, too...'** _

_**Noah Puckerman: 'I can make you a star...Are you gonna be a performer or a pedaller?'** _

_**#I wanna hold your hand#** _

_**Noah Puckerman: 'Beauty is powerful, Quinn. But it fades fast.'** _

_**Jesse St. James: 'Are you ready to make the most of that pretty face?'** _

" _ **...and now they're coming to the**_ **Play** _ **stream for your viewing pleasure..."**_

—  _ **The smiling faces of Kurt and Quinn overlap on the screen, each backed by the image of their ecstatic Counters—***_

Forced to watch for a second time, Dave takes in the hesitant smile that spreads across the side of Kurt's face that's visible; still striking, beautiful, even through a screen that's as broken, warped, as his dreams.

_***#I wanna hold...your hand#** _

" _ **Could you take Star Shot by storm? Buy to try! Your dreams could be just fifteen million credits away—**_

_**whether you know it or not!"** _

_**-the music crescendos then fades.*** _

It hurts all over again to wonder how Kurt felt in that moment, strung out on whatever the hell that  _Compliance_  drink was. Dave feels the threat of those unshed tears return: it hurts more to wonder how he must be feeling now.

As the refreshed ad stream continues to play, Dave sniffs and flips onto his stomach, heedless of his bandaged hand as he balances his weight on it and digs his left hand underneath, seeking the items he stored inside the mattress earlier that day. He's strangely relieved and half-surprised to find them still there; the broken sliver of glass and the flattened  _Compliance_  carton, pieces of detritus, both salvaged from the wreckage of yesterday.

He lays both items on the bed beside him before he turns around, onto his back, and brings the small, white carton up to his lips. He looks for any clue of what it might have been like, hoping to extract any residual taste of the drink, of Kurt, that he can. He tongues uselessly at the small, round opening of the box, but there's nothing left, not of the drink or of Kurt. All he finds is the dry, metallic tang of emptiness.

Dave leaves the carton when it rests against his lips as he toys idly with the smooth-faced, sharp-edged sliver of broken glass by his side. He lets his mind drift, ignoring the continuing stream of new ads that play in discordant stereo around him.

Even having seen him there, on screen, it all feels so different from the last time they were separated, when Kurt was redeployed; more fixed, more final. And yet now, Dave knows he has a chance to get back to him in a way that he couldn't before. All that stands between him and the edge, between him and Kurt being together, are the fifteen million credits that he needs to get there. Six months – maybe less – of hard work. He's done it before, kind of. This time, he knows he's got to make it count for something. Failure is not an option.

He knows that Pro-Virtua football has always been his only hope, but now, he's not so sure it's enough. He's fucked that up before and now, he can't afford to put his faith in a team, in  _anyone_  but himself. He just has to find another way.

Dave blinks his bleary eyes and wracks his brain, absently clutching the shard of glass still in his left hand. It's pointed tip is sharp enough to break the skin, but he's careful just to let the sharp scratch of the jagged edge push against his palm without cutting it, the slight sting just enough to help him focus on  _something_ , to centre his thoughts.

And, when Kurt's Star Shot ad comes around again – when he's forced to hear that achingly beautiful voice again, singing that song ( _his_  song) – it's like something clicks into place.

He still doesn't know exactly what to do; there's no real sketch, no solid masterplan. But it's more than he woke up with this morning. Before he knows it, the five minute warning sounds for lights out and he's glad. He just wants to close his eyes and leave this mess behind. He tucks both the carton and the glass safely back into the discreet tear under his mattress.

Although they're reminders of the bad, he wants to keep them for good, because at least they're his, they're real. And he thinks, now – he  _knows_  – that they just might give him a way out of here, one way or another.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry it took so long. This chapter continues the final arc of the story and is a little different as it comes entirely from Kurt's POV (Dave's next chapter). There's still ANGST, but hopefully it's a little more enjoyable than the last few chapters. Please let me know if you think so by leaving a review. After more than 100k words and ton of angsting, it's nice to know that people are still reading!
> 
> Huge thanks to Spookybibi for being a super fast, super helpful beta.
> 
> Warnings: Drug use, pornography.

 

**  
**

_**103,985** _

When he enters the pod, it's brighter than he'd like it to be.

"Can you...dim the lights a little?" He inquires as he turns slowly on a booted heel, taking in the new surroundings. The set is as small and enclosed as the pod he once called home, but the decor is more modern and luscious, just like everything else he's seen here so far; there's a wide, white leather couch taking up most of the floorspace, plush and welcoming ( _and_   _conveniently wipe clean_ , he thinks with a small shudder), and it faces the wide sprawl of a deceptively innocent looking mirrorscreen on the main wall.

"We can do anything you like, Kurt. This is all about making you feel comfortable."

He almost laughs at that. The voice comes from behind the vast screen; as disembodied as his sense of shame. If he had to articulate his current mood,  _comfortable_  would not be the term he'd choose. Though, bizarrely, he's not exactly  _un_ comfortable either.

At least, not anymore.

* * *

**699,045**

" _Mr Puckerman, this isn't what I wanted when I auditioned..."_

" _You told me you wanted to be a performer. You said you wanted to be a star, right?"_

" _Yes, but...no, not like...I'm not comfortable with being_ that _kind of performer." Kurt winced as he heard his own voice grow shrill with panic. True to his word, Blaine had set up the call with Puckerman as soon as they'd returned to the apartment after their first visit to the mall, though he'd never actually video called before and suddenly seeing his would be subjugator, ill-coiffed and laid back as ever, displayed across the wide expanse of the screen in his room was more than a little intimidating. His felt small and weak. "There's been a mistake. I can't...I don't mean to appear ungrateful, but I can't agree to what's in that contract. I'm...I just want to go back."_

" _Back?" Puckerman raised both eyebrows at that and continued to look directly at him with that same scurrilous smile he'd seen him use on stream hundreds of times._

" _Yes." Kurt feigned a small smile of his own, fighting to retain some degree of composure. He knew that bursting into floods of hysterical tears was unlikely to do him any good. "Back to the mid-zones, back to pedalling. Back to being just...a pedaller."_

" _No can do." Puckerman said without giving any pause for consideration. He continued to smile that too-familiar smile and Kurt felt the knot of dread already in his gut twist to the point of pain._

" _But I...I just want to...I'm happy to start all over again."_

" _Listen Kurt," Puckerman said as he inclined his head, pushing his face in close to the lens. Kurt felt himself lean back involuntarily as his visage filled the screen in its entirety, "as your employer, your happiness is...important to me, but once you're out, you're out. There's no going back."_

" _But..."_

" _Those are the rules. I don't make them but, unlike some people I know, I do my best to follow them."_

_Kurt could only cringe at the none-too-subtle dig as he struggled, for once, to find the words to fight. He already knew it would be a losing battle._

" _Why would you want to go back anyway? You got what everyone wants." He shrugged. "I thought you were calling to thank me."_

* * *

"Is this okay?" The voice behind the mirror asks.

Kurt starts a little as the sound pulls him from his thoughts and he watches the surrounding light soften to a warm amber glow, as per his request.

"Yes," he nods in the direction of the screen but avoids looking directly at it, "thank you."

His head is starting to spin; dizzy from dread and adrenalin, as well as the Compliance he downed before coming in here.

As he approaches the inviting stillness of the couch, he's aware of the sudden dryness in his mouth, too. He licks his lips slowly and can still taste the sweetness of that Red Compliance lingering there.  _"The Red isn't as strong as the White you had before,"_  Blaine had said,  _"and it promotes certain...amatory impulses."_  His stomach does a little unidentifiable flip-flop at that thought yet, if he still had the drink in his hand, he'd gladly suck more of it down.

He knows he'll need at least that to get him through this, even if it does mean, like last time, he won't remember anything afterwards.

This time, that might not be such a bad thing.

* * *

**678,050**

" _But this_ isn't _what I wanted. You_ drugged _me, and I—"_

" _Woah, woah, hold up there cupcake. I didn't drug anyone."_

_Puckerman still on his screen, Kurt had risen to his feet in protest, affected equanimity forgotten, as his room, his world, seemed to narrow on all sides. "But the Compliance—"_

"— _is just a little mood enhancer. It makes you feel better about yourself, gives you stamina, and it stops you from puking with nerves. All the people you look up to use it. And you agreed to 'full Compliance' when you bought your audition ticket."_

 _He felt his face burn with impotent rage. "But...that's...I don't even_ remember _agreeing to any of this!"_

" _That's...too bad, but we talked when you were in the studio, before you agreed to anything—"_

" _Maybe we did, but—"_

" _You told me about...David, right?"_

_Kurt stilled and looked at the screen. Had he actually talked to Puckerman about David?_

_The judge's tone softened. "And you told me how it'd be awesome for him to get off watching you instead of some random dude up there..."_

" _I did?" He sat back down on the bed and tried to calm himself as the shame of having a big fat blank where that memory should be returned. He'd seen himself agreeing to this without any recollection of the event itself; he had no idea what else he might have said._

_He watched Puckerman nod in response, smile turned into a smirk._

" _Even so," Kurt straightened his slumping shoulders and lifted his chin, attempting to appear tough even though he didn't feel it, "this isn't right. How can it even be legal if I don't actually_ remember _?!"_

" _Trust me, porcelain; I have a whole fuck-ton of lawyers who are more than sure that it's legal. Anyway, I thought you didn't care too much for the law; you didn't mind performing for your little boyfriend before, and that wasn't exactly legit."_

_Kurt sniffed against the hot, fat tears he felt well in eyes. How could he defend himself against the truth?_

_Puckerman huffed out an imposing sigh. "The Compliance is just...a safe way of getting the best out of people. You're in a shitty mood? The Compliance takes that way. You feel self-conscious? Boom. It's gone."_

" _I don't..." He tried to protest but trailed off, the sick feeling in his stomach rising to his throat. If words were the only weapons he had, he felt like he'd just been disarmed._

" _Being in the limelight isn't easy, Kurt. You won't always feel like performing but, just like everybody else, just like when you were pedalling, you don't have a choice. You have to get on that saddle and ride: it's your job."_

* * *

"Get yourself settled. We'll roll in five minutes."

He nods again at the distant voice and, when he turns to face the mirror, he gazes blankly back at his own reflection. It's been almost two weeks, and so much has changed in that time, he feels like he should look different. But it's still strange, somehow, to see himself like this; out of those grey sweats, hair professionally styled - in a pompadour, just like his Counter - and lips stained purposely pink. The dark circles that had lingered beneath his eyes from too many sleepless nights have been hidden, covered by pale velvety make up that serves, too, to even out the freckles on his fair complexion, and he's dressed in skin tight black pants (to show off his legs and his ass – both well-toned from months of pedalling) and a simple, slim-fitting white shirt, left conspicuously open at the neck. He can admit that he at least likes this part; the clothes, the make-up, the hair. He guesses he does look  _sexier_ , even if he doesn't yet feel it, although he can't help but feel somewhat sad, already nostalgic, at the fact he looks almost nothing like he did before. He wonders if Dave will still like him, now; styled and sexified.

He wonders if he'll still like him at all, if he'll still love him, even after...this.

That same thought has been keeping him awake at night and it lingers now, even as his dizzy- dread starts to give way to a not unpleasant fuzziness that's creeping slowly down his spine. He knows he  _feels_  nervous, still, but his heart beat grows slow and steady in his chest, and when he examines his hands, holding them out flat in front of him, they seem steady, too. He's unsure, now, why he's even entertaining these same thoughts that have been churning in his mind for days that felt like weeks. It's too late to change anything; the time for coulda-shoulda-wouldas well and truly gone.

Still, Kurt's last hope is that Dave  _knows_ , that he somehow understands even through his semi-scripted words and rehearsed actions, that this is, in its own warped way, for him – for  _them_ ; that he wouldn't be doing this if there were any other way.

* * *

**660,360**

" _There must...isn't there anything else? Something else I could do instead?"_

_Puckerman sighed and his expression sobered. "There's always the jumpsuit."_

" _You mean, I could opt out?" Kurt had felt his heart leap, hopeful for the barest fraction of a second, before the realization sunk in. He felt his blood run cold._

" _Sure. We need trash monkeys here too."_

" _But then I'd—"_

" _Exactly._

 _His only other option was no option at all. If he took the jumpsuit, he'd never a have a shot at any kind of future, good or bad: just something inbetween. He'd be like Azimio; working, surviving, forever alone and filled with bitter regret about the chances he'd wasted, the opportunities he'd lost. There'd be no credits to worry about. But there'd be no singing, no_ performing _. No clothes, not even a Counter...and most importantly, there'd be no David. "This isn't fair."_

" _Kurt, you're young. Naive. Consider this your first real world lesson learned: life isn't always fair."_

_He couldn't even muster a response to that; it was a lesson he'd already learned, more than once in his life. He sucked his bottom lip roughly between his teeth, so that Puckerman wouldn't see it tremble._

" _Besides, you'd need to pay back the credits you've already spent before I could even let you go do that."_

" _The signing bonus? Blaine said—"_

" _I didn't get my rep as the nightstream sex shark by dishing out free credits." Puckerman winked at him. It seemed horribly inappropriate. "And every minute you spend bitching and boo-hooing here is just another five thousand you owe me, so..."_

_Kurt's eyes darted automatically to the bottom corner of the screen and watched as his credits counted down with each passing second. He let out the sob he'd been biting back, gave in to it; the battle was lost. And he'd just paid fifty thousand credits (and counting) for the pleasure of being told that he was fucked._

_Or that he soon would be._

" _Let's wrap this up for now. Bottom line, princess - you still wanna be a star?" Puckerman asked, but didn't wait for an answer. He'd obviously grown tired of their conversation. "I can make you a star. You wanna be adored? I can guarantee people out there will fucking worship you. So what if it's for your ass instead of your voice? Life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. And, I know, people are already looking forward to trying your sweet, sweet lemonade."_

* * *

Kurt sits tentatively on the edge of the seat and continues to stare back at his reflection, waiting for torturously long minutes to pass. He tries to concentrate on the here and now – to leave the past and the future just where they are – though it isn't easy. He feels automatically inclined to cling to his insecurities, his fears and failings, even as he feels those parts of himself drifting slowly away; receding into the darker recesses of his mind. That not-unpleasant fuzzy feeling has extended from his spine out through his entire frame too; his bones feel light and heavy all at once and he's much too  _aware_  of his body, making it hard to focus on any one thing for long

He tries, though. He clenches his jaw and closes his eyes, just for a second, in an attempt to regain a little control while he still can, mental and physical.

He can do this. He  _will_  do this. Just because he's given in to this fate doesn't mean that he's given up, too. He'll make  _lemonade_  now, because he has to, because he  _chooses_  to, even if his only other option  _is_  to be stuck in a lemon jumpsuit for the rest of his life.

He re-opens his eyes and scoots back in the seat. The cushion feels softer under him than he would've thought, given its purpose, and he finds himself half-smiling as it gives under his weight, moulds to the shape of his ass. He knows then that the  _Compliance_  must really be kicking in because, despite his resolve, he still doesn't feel much like smiling.

He reminds himself, as he clings to his last stringy thread of apprehension, that he  _is_  still destined for better. He knows that he can't stop believing that what his Dad had told him (a lifetime ago) is true: that he can have anything he wants if he's willing to work hard enough for it. Even Puckerman can't argue with that. And what he wants now is really only what he's always wanted: something better than he has now. He wants is to make his own choices, control his own destiny, be his own person. And he wants to be able to share all that with David; not via live call or through a vid stream, not through clandestine trysts. He wants Dave wholly, legitimately, physically. Now more than ever. And he's willing to work for that, even if it first means  _this_.

* * *

**591,625**

" _It's just...work, Kurt. Just like pedalling only, trust me, it can be_ much _more pleasurable."_

" _Well, I never had to get my...my_ junk _out while I was pedalling." He grimaced at the thought._

" _Oh, well, from what I've heard that's not strictly true." Blaine said with a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows in an obvious attempt at humor that Kurt wasn't quite ready to accept._

" _I...you know..." It had taken him three days just to leave the confines of his room and attempt to talk to Blaine about this, he wasn't anywhere near ready to laugh about it "...fuck you, Blaine."_

" _Sorry, sorry, I'm just..." He'd at least had the decently to let his smile fade._ _Kurt didn't want to have to trust Blaine. He didn't want to have to talk to anyone about any of this but, as much as it pained him to admit it, Blaine was his only source of information, advice, out here; his lifeline._ _He made sure to keep his scowl in place, anyway, as Blaine continued. "It's just acting. It's fantasy. You said before that you didn't judge the guys you watched, right? I'm just like a Counter when I'm in front of the lens; they can undress me, move me, make me 'ooh' and 'aah' and do whatever they want, but it's not the real me."_

" _I just...I don't know if I can do it."_

" _You'll do great," Blaine shimmied a little closer on the couch and placed a hand on his thigh before he could pull away, "I know you will."_

_Kurt felt his body tense. He wasn't sure he wanted to do well._

" _Kurt, please. Look at me. I know you think..." Blaine raised a hand to his jaw, urged Kurt to look him in the eye before pulling his hand away again, "I wasn't lying before, really, I wasn't. I just wanted to help you settle in. I wanted you to have a little fun. This was all weird for me too, when I started out. I worried about what people might say, what my family would think, what my..." He trailed off and looked up, smiling wistfully before reaching for Kurt's hand. "This wasn't my dream, just like it isn't yours, but it's still the best thing that's ever happened to me—"_

'This is the best thing that'll ever happen to you...'  _Dave's words came back to him in a flash of bittersweet memory that he had to close his eyes against._

"— _and David will understand that. It'll be...a shock, maybe, at first. Just as much as it is for you, but he obviously wants what's best for you or you wouldn't even be here right now. If he loves you, Kurt, it won't change anything."_

_Kurt wanted to believe him, on all counts. What was his alternative?_

" _It's only for a year, tops. You might've been stuck on the floor for five. And if you're a hit, which I'm sure you will be, you'll earn two-fifty before the year is even up, and get to renegotiate sooner."_

_He'd read the contract, over and over already, but still...he'd started to doubt everything here. "And then I can just...leave?"_

" _Did you actually read that contract while you were holed up in there?" Blaine narrowed his eyes and smiled playfully. Kurt didn't return it. "You can move on if you want to, or you can renegotiate your deal. Get a better cut of your gross if you're popular. Unless...Puck wants you to go, then you're out." He frowned. "Y'know, looks fade, interest weans...there's always someone younger, hotter...anything can happen."_

* * *

The sooner he can get to two-hundred and fifty million credits, the sooner he can leave Puckerman and  _Puck's Play_  behind and after that, well, anything could happen. He just has to put his long term plan in front of short term pride.

"Ready when you are, Kurt."

He shifts a little in his seat, reaching to fix a stray strand of his spray-stiffened hair, and feels his spine curve satisfyingly against the soft arc of the couch's back. He  _tries_  to fight it, the Compliance in his blood, in his brain, that he knows is trying to wash those lingering doubts away, but he's enjoying the shrouding softness of the cool leather a little too much and, for the first time, he feels a small electric thrill tingle at the base of his spine at the thought of what he's about to do.

He's spent so many nights worrying, wondering, weeping over this; he's tired of fighting his own conscience. He's ready to give into now. Ready for it all to just...stop.

"Okay," he whispers mostly to himself, "I think I'm ready."

* * *

**565,140**

" _You're definitely not thinking of opting out, are you?"_

" _No," Kurt responded with a groan as Blaine looked at him with wary eyes. He'd managed to think a lot, to cry a lot more, and had resigned himself enough to his new reality that he'd begun to chill out, a little. "I've come to the conclusion that I'd rather do_ anything _than that."_

" _Good." Blaine said, visibly relieved, before looking back towards the episode of Star Shot that was playing on the vis-wall in from of them._

" _Why do you care so much?"_

" _Because...I need this, Kurt. I don't want to put extra pressure on you," he rolled his eyes and shook his head a little, "really I don't, and I know I told you about my success and my subscribers, and that was all true, but...my popularity is on the decline, and this...this thing with you, it could make me. It could make both of us."_

_Kurt felt his body tense involuntarily at the idea, but the look he'd seen in Blaine's eyes was one of abject hope, of borderline desperation. Huh. Maybe they were a lot alike, after all. "But, you must've made more than enough to leave by now if you wanted?"_

_He nodded. "I did, almost six months ago, but I didn't want to leave. I'm coming up to the end of my first year, and I still don't...want to go, not completely, not yet. I have my acting class, and my vocal class and, and an as-yet severely under-stocked bow tie collection," he smiled, small, and sighed. For the first time, Kurt could see self-doubt in his hazel eyes, "I just need to build up my skills a little more, and my credits, for when...this is over."_

_Kurt bobbed his head slowly in response, he knew the shelf life of a career like this had to be shorter than most. It was the one thing he was grateful for in all of this. "What will you do, afterwards?"_

" _Keep acting, hopefully. If I'm any good at anything other than...y'know." Kurt did know and, after hours of sitting like this with Blaine on the ink black couch in their apartment, he'd softened towards the other boy. He'd seen his goofy brand of bravado for what it was; just that, and it had started to crumble. "Theatre, maybe. That's what I always wanted. Something different to this. Nothing big scale, just...small and intimate."_

" _More intimate than what you do already?" Kurt couldn't suppress a sardonic smile._

_Blaine chuckled and a slight blush colored his cheeks. "Not that kind of intimate, obviously."_

_There was a long, self-conscious pause before Kurt asked, "How quickly could I...could you, realistically, make two-hundred and fifty million?"_

" _Well, you know that the more...explicit vids cost more to stream. So, how much you earn depends on how quickly you're willing to get to the...main event."_

_He swallowed. "And Puck wants you and me to...?"_

" _Could be worse, right? I mean, I know you're not a_ fan _, but...at least I'm not hideous." Blaine said, most dazzling smile quickly back in place as he batted dark lashes at him. "Nor am I a girl. That's got to be two points in my favor, right away."_

 _There was another pause as Kurt thought about it; however mechanical and emotionless it may be, it still amounted to him cheating on David. The fact that_ that _would be the result was almost worse than the idea of the...act in itself. And Blaine had Sebastian, though he was sure they were both used to seeing each other doing...that. Kurt had hardly had a chance to be with David in all the ways he wanted, never mind doing those things with anyone else._

_He found himself looking away from Blaine again, fidgeting in his seat. "You know that I'm...I mean, even though we broke the rules, it was never...David and I never went all the way."_

" _Oh, I think that's all part of your appeal, new kid." Blaine said, and bumped Kurt's elbow with his own. Kurt could only look back at him, blinking through wide eyes. "You haven't talked to Noah about this yet?"_

" _No," he heaved a sigh, "when we talked I just kind of...cried and begged him to let me go home."_

" _Yeah, I didn't have the heart to say...but that was never gonna happen." Blaine's smile faltered. "If you're going with this, you have to talk to him."_

" _About...what he has planned for us?"_

_Blaine looked a little uncertain. "Yes."_

" _Can't you just tell me, since you're obviously so knowledgeable on the subject?"_

" _Well, Noah knows he can really capitalize on this. You're still, technically, a virgin. Believe it or not, that's pretty rare. Most of us managed to lose it before we got here." He paused for breath and Kurt noted a hardness in his eyes as his jaw set before his smile retuned and he continued. "Now, I don't want to completely spoiler it, so don't tell him that I told you, but Noah wants it to be the cherry popping event of the season," he splayed his hands for effect and widened his eyes before his tone softened, "but seriously...don't worry, if it's me, I promise, I'll make it so good for you."_

 _Kurt felt his eyes grow comically wide. "Wait._ If _it's you?"_

" _I...really want it to be me," Blaine bit his lip, and looked away before resuming his explanation, speaking this time with more enthusiasm, "but he's planning a big build up, solo stuff first, I think, as a teaser, then an interactive vote...all that. He's been looking for someone for a while, and you," he nudges Kurt's shoulder playfully, "are perfect for the role. He'll make us both work for you, I know that. But I know it'll be great for all of us, whatever happens."_

" _Who?" Kurt felt bewildered all over again. He couldn't help but let a bitter bout of laughter at Blaine's easy chatter about his the ensuing competition between strangers for what was left of his virtue._

" _What?"_

" _You said he'll make you_ both _work for it. You and who else?"_

" _Right." Blaine nodded and a small smile returned to his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Me and...Sebastian."_

* * *

Kurt crosses his legs and adjusts the bejewelled penguin brooch on his shirt, enjoying the rough texture of the cut glass beads against his fingertips, ensuring that it's there, that it's visible, as he faces the middle of the mirrorscreen. He's pliant, now, loose, but not naive enough, after everything, to know that his words can't be twisted, that his actions won't be edited down to suit Puckerman's greater purpose. And that's okay; he knows that's how it works. But they won't alter  _this_.

He smiles more for himself than the man behind the screen. The brooch is a symbol – just like the paper version he once left behind – of something significant, something special between them, however far apart they are. It's the only thing he can think of to show Dave that at least  _he_  still cares, that  _he_  still loves him. He has to have faith, now, that it'll be enough.

"We'll start with questions, just like in the runthrough, alright?"

"Alright," he parrots, uncrossing his legs to feel the hard press of a pair of buds nestled against his hip; he fishes them out of the narrow pocket of his too-tight pants in preparation, grateful for the sweet promise they hold, "let's begin."

* * *

**548,555**

" _Blaine said I should talk to you about...what happens next." Kurt focused on his rapidly dwindling credits rather than Puckerman's self-satisfied face as it appeared on his screen during the vid-call._

" _Awesome. Well, we have to trail you first, let our viewers know what you're all about, give them a little taste of the merch, y'know?"_

" _I want to, um," he felt his skin begin to crawl, "get to the...main event as quickly as possible."_

" _I love your enthusiasm. Quite the turnaround from our last conversation."_

" _Well, I spoke to Blaine, and...I just want to make it to two-fifty so that I can leave."_

" _Well, by then you might not want to."_

_He lifted his gaze towards the middle of the screen so he could be sure that Puckerman would catch his glower. "By then you won't be able to force me to stay."_

" _True."_

" _So..."_

" _Have you ever had two guys fight over you?"_

 _Just one fighting_ for _him, that had been enough. He rolled his eyes. "No."_

" _You'll love it, it's good for the ego, even if it is staged. It's all up to the director, but we'll trail all three of you first, then set up some Scandals shots after a few days, get you together for some soft scenes, then set up the vote. The viewers can decide who they wanna see you bottom for. Blaine and Seb are good guys, popular, but they need a boost. Winner takes it all. If it's successful, we'll—"_

_He felt sick. "So, I'll be...it'll be...it'll happen that quickly?"_

" _You said you were eager to get on with it."_

_He was eager to get it over and done with. "I am."_

" _Then I'll set it all up. You'll get a call from your director when they're ready for you."_

" _What will I have to do? In the trailer?"_

" _Look good, introduce yourself, flirt with the lens, talk dirty, jerk off..._ _as much as you're comfortable with, although no toys or fingering. We wanna save all the ass-play for the main event. It's just a screen test; we just need enough that people will pay to watch. Trust me, people are already interested. Your name's had thousands of hits already and we haven't even set up your stream yet._ _"_

 _He felt a small kick of excitement at the idea of being_ popular _before shame quickly surpassed it. "I've never done anything like this before."_

" _Not in front of a lens, you haven't." Puckerman winked at him. "But_ _I know you've got the skills, because I've heard your live call tracks, and I know people will pay to watch that, otherwise, you wouldn't be here."_

_Kurt felt something tighten in his chest. "You heard...my live calls? With David?"_

" _It's all in your file. I was impressed. For such a seemingly uptight little virgin, you've got a dirty mouth. You can listen to the tracks if you need inspiration for your shoots."_

" _Really?"_

" _Yeah, really." Puckerman smiled lasciviously, picking up on the interest in Kurt's tone. "But only on set. Think of it as a tool of the trade. You think it'd help?"_

" _I...yes." It had been barely a week since he'd last seen Dave, but it already felt like a lifetime ago. He felt that constriction in his chest give way to a begrudging tingle of exhilaration._

" _I want the best out of you, Kurt. If you have to listen to your boyfriend jerking off to perform, then...so be it."_

* * *

"Relax and enjoy yourself. Just answer like you did in the runthrough. You look great, just remember to smile and...think sexy."

As the faceless man's voice echoes through the set, he feels his smile falter; realization dawning on him that this is it. It's  _happening_. His nerves pierce through his cloudy consciousness. He's actually going through with his first screen test for  _Puck's Play_.

The niggling sensation makes him feel more puzzled than panicked, though, and he tries to push those thoughts aside as he blinks towards the centre of the mirrorscreen, where he knows the main lens is placed, and forces his smile to return. He thinks he's just more excited, now, about the prospect of hearing Dave's voice again than he is nervous about everything else.

"How do you like living at the edge so far? Your new apartment? Your view?"

"I...everything is just so beautiful here," and that's not a lie, though Kurt pauses, rolling his buds between his fingers for reassurance, as he looking for the scripted answers in his still slightly fuzzy head, "the view, the clothes, the people. I...I have to pinch myself every day to make sure it isn't all a dream."

"How 'bout your roommate?"

* * *

**348,985**

" _Okay, give me your sexy face."_

_Kurt looked at himself in the mirror and frowned. "I don't have a sexy face. I don't...I'm not...I don't even know why I agreed to this."_

" _Because," Blaine turned away from the mirror to look directly at him, "if you have to do this, you're gonna do it well, you're gonna be the best you can be so that those credits come rolling in, isn't that what you want?" He nodded weakly in response. "And, a little rehearsal now will save you from freaking out when you're on set."_

_He quaked at the thought. This wasn't quite the same as practicing a song or some dance moves. "I don't think any amount of rehearsal will save me from freaking out on set."_

" _That's why we have a vendor full of Compliance, too." Blaine said with a knowing smile. Kurt only glared at him in return. "Just...imagine I'm David. I bet David saw your sexy face, plenty of times."_

" _That's completely different."_

" _How so?"_

" _Because that was..."_ just for him. And you're not my boyfriend _"...private."_

" _But he'll be watching, so pretend it's just for him. Give him what you didn't have time to give him when you were sneaking off to break the rules. Show him what he's missing; make him want to pedal harder, faster, to come out here and get you back."_

_Dave would be watching, he was sure of it. He said he would...whatever happened._

_Kurt turned back towards the mirror and exhaled long and loud, hoping to expel all the fear and frustration along with the breath. He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in an attempt at a sexy pout._

" _That...are you okay?"_

" _What?"_

" _You kind of look like you're in pain."_

" _I'm trying, Blaine!" Kurt hit the bed beneath them with both fists and growled before looking back at his so-called coach, who was failing miserably to bite back his amusement. Kurt let his tongue dart out over his top lip and blinked furiously back at him, eyes wide with incredulity._

_Blaine's lips eased into a surprised smile. "That's it."_

" _That's what?"_

" _What you just did, when you looked all pissed and licked your lips." Kurt wondered if he was being mocked, but he could read Blaine fairly well, and his smile seemed genuine. He put his hand on Kurt's chin and turned it back towards the mirrorscreen. "Patent pending, I give you the official Kurt Hummel Sexy Face."_

* * *

"Blaine is...he's been very sweet. He's so good looking and charming and...experienced. He's teaching me everything I need to know about...life, here, at the edge."

"Everything?"

"Um," he smiles, blinks his eyes and licks his lips in the way that Blaine told him looks hot, "...maybe not everything...yet."

"And you've met another Puck's Play star already..."

* * *

**291,880**

" _So, I hear little grey riding pants is finally ready to serve up some cherry delight."_

_Kurt had been sitting by the window in his old sweatpants – listening to Blaine sing softly in the near distance, watching the sun set and wishing he didn't feel so awfully alone – when Sebastian appeared in the main doorway. He didn't bother to feign a smile at the sight, just intoned flatly, "So nice to see you again, too, Sebastian."_

" _I know. It's_ always _nice to see me." Sebastian said with a smirk and made his way across the living area of the apartment towards Blaine's room._

_Blaine emerged, beaming, shoes in hand, and tiptoed to kiss Sebastian softly on the lips before dropping the shiny slip-on brogues to the floor._

" _Hey, hot stuff." Sebastian smiled and caught Blaine's hand, outstretched for balance, as he slipped each foot into the shoes._

 _Kurt had been taken by the surprising warmth in the small gesture. It wasn't like last time, when they were out in public; this wasn't for show. Just the fond exchange of boyfriends getting ready to go out together. Though what he felt more than anything at that moment was a covetous resentment towards them both. He wanted what they had. He wanted to have it,_ again _, with David._

" _From what I hear, you're totally Class D* anyway, right?"_

" _Sebastian..." Blaine swatted at his boyfriend's forearm in a weak reproach but continued to gaze at him with undiluted affection. He guessed what they said about love being blind was true. And, in this case, deaf. And a little dumb._

" _Better Class D than altogether classless." Kurt barked and stood abruptly, stalking back towards his own room. He couldn't watch anymore. As horrifying as he still found it that one of these two would end up taking his virginity, and as bad as it felt to have Sebastian mock him because of it, what hurt the most was seeing them have what he was missing out on._

" _Ouch, princess. If I had any feelings, you might've just hurt them."_

" _Ignore him, Kurt; he's just jealous of all the time you and I have been spending together." Blaine said, chasing Kurt, poking his head around the doorframe to find him sitting on his bed and dragging his legs up so he could hug his knees to his chest. "You sure you'll be okay here by yourself tonight?"_

" _Yes," Kurt snapped before he could help himself. Blaine had been kind to him. Patient. None of this was his fault. "I'll be fine. I'd actually like a little time alone, to be honest."_

" _Okay, but—"_

" _Or," Sebastian chimed in with a typical smirk, pushing his way past Blaine and all the way into Kurt's room, "we could skip our date altogether and give Kurt a little live action preview of what's to come; two for the price of one."_

" _Stop, Sebastian—" Blaine tugged at his boyfriends arm, shooting an apologetic look towards Kurt._

" _What?" Sebastian looked at his Blaine, amusement clear in his green eyes. "Doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you."_

" _Never gonna happen!" Kurt yelled after him. He had the urge to throw something at the back of his head._

" _That's not your decision to make."_

_Kurt felt his whole body bristle with powerless rage. It was true. He'd be at the mercy of one or the other these boys sooner rather than later._

" _Enough, Seb. Come on." Blaine said again, ushering Sebastian out the door before looking back over his shoulder, dropping his voice to a whisper, "Sorry, he's just...an ass when he gets jealous."_

* * *

"I've met Sebastian Smythe. He's quite a character." Kurt struggled to keep his eyes from rolling. "Very...handsome."

"I hear you'll be getting to know one of them a lot better soon."

This would be the worst part. He reminded himself that Dave would know he was only  _acting_. "Um...Puck's making another one my dreams come true. With either Blaine or...Sebastian."

"Do you have a preference yet?"

"Oh, I..." he knows his smile's gone and he can see more than feel himself blink too many times, "they're both...so..."  _not Dave_  "...hot, I don't think I could choose by myself..."

"What kind of guys do you usually like to watch on  _Play_?"

"I like...dark hair, nice eyes. I like a sweet guy." He pauses, his practiced words faltering. He decides to go with his gut instead, to go with the truth. "Someone generous and passionate. What I really like is...a jock-type – football players." He smiles as he thinks back to his last live call with David, knowing full well that he'll remember too ( _'...so that's your type...hot and dorky?'_ ) "I like...a combination of smart and strong...someone athletic...with a nice, broad chest."

He licks his lips again, slowly, and keeps his eyes fixed on the middle mirrorscreen. He's waiting to be corrected, reprimanded for going off script.

He feels almost giddy with newfound power when the admonishment doesn't come.

"Tell us about a fantasy you have – or the last time you got yourself off?"

* * *

**233,105**

"Aah, I'm so tight."  _Blaine groaned, his lips forming an exaggerated 'o' as the bright blue toy disappeared almost completely into his lube-slicked ass. "_ But, fuck, it feels good...and I want it...I want it so...so...badly..."

_Kurt felt the blush spread from his cheeks all the way down to his kneecaps as he watched Blaine on the screen, doing what he's paid to do. So different to the polite and personable boy he'd come to know. He'd watched plenty of porn before, obviously, but this was different; this time he watched purely in the interest of research, like Puck had told him to; he wasn't getting off on this._

_He sat with his back against the wall, fully clothed in too-tight pants with his legs purposely crosses at the knee. Although, Kurt found his mind wandering, as it always did, to David. Had he watched this vid? Is this what Dave liked, when he was in his pod, alone, without Kurt on the line to talk him through his orgasm? Is this what he watches now he's gone?_

_He felt arousal cloud the trepidation he'd been feeling when he hit 'play', at the idea of Dave watching this, too; fisting his cock, matching the rhythm set by Blaine on the screen._

_And, as he watched Blaine sit completely naked and debauched, legs spread wide, on a bed in what he assumed was a set that looked like a standard mid-zone pod, it was stupid, he knew it, but he found himself growing envious at the thought of_ this _Blaine stealing_ his _Dave's attention. Of the fact that Blaine had the power, the means, to do just that._

_Kurt shifted to uncross his legs, unzipped his pants to relieve some of the pressure on his growing erection, and imagined himself there in Blaine's stead; imagined fisting his cock and biting on his bottom lip, looking at the lens, moaning and talking directly to David through the camera._

_But he wouldn't have to imagine for long, because he'd have that power, too. He'd have the means to own Dave's attention, to get him off with his own words and actions and..._

_The realization was unspeakably heady, and his hand had found his cock before he had the time to feel bad about it._

* * *

"Um..." he swallows and closes his eyes momentarily, remembering the last time he got off in all its gruesome detail. He feels like he  _should_  be nervous now, embarrassed even, but all he  _actually_  feels is desire starting to pool, low and familiar, in his gut at the thought. "I...kind of have this fantasy where...a big, sexy guy gets on his knees and..." Kurt looks right into the lens again; his thoughts focussed on one Dave Karofsky in Mid-zone 216. This is all he has, the only way he can let Dave know that this is for him, for  _them_ , "takes my cock into his mouth."

That wasn't in his script, though he can't remember what he was supposed to say instead. There's a pause that feels too long.

"Okay, Kurt, great job. You ready for the track?"

He lets out a shaky breath and he's sure his heart skips a single beat. He feels his lips forming into a loose smile. "Yes."

"Tell me how much you want it."

Kurt narrows his eyes and trains them on the lens like he practiced. "Please, I...I really want it."

His limbs feel light, loose, as he hastily puts the buds into his ears. He  _knows_  it's just the effect of the Compliance, but he  _feels_  kind of...sexy. He lets his eyes flutter closed and rolls his head back to rest on the back on the couch, exposing his long, pale neck, waiting for the track to begin.

This is it, he thinks. He can feel the slow burn of anticipation warm his skin and he's getting lost in it; all of a sudden, his clothes feel too tight and too many.

Before the track even starts his whole body thrums with excitement and he realizes through the fugue that what he finds most shocking about the whole situation now, what he knows he'd find almost upsetting if it wasn't for the Compliance blocking the emotion, is that, now that he's had time to get used to the idea, now that he's focussed on David and the promise of  _something_  he really wants, only a far-away part of himself even objects to what he's about to do.

_**53,985** _

_"_ _So, why don't you tell me what you'd do if you were here?"_

It's strange to hear himself, at first; his voice is a little jarring, too high-pitched, too breathy, too loud to his own ears, though any onset embarrassment he feels is quickly swept away by the low growl he hears from Dave in response.

 _"_ _Are you in bed?"_ Dave asks him from another world, and it's so good to hear his voice, even if it isn't really here or now. That familiar soft rasp in his ears is enough to make him feel choked with emotion and giddy with  _want_. He has to bite at his bottom lip to stop himself from answering before the recorded voice does.

_"Yes."_

_"_ _Would you let me climb in beside you?"_  He can hear the smile in Dave's voice, see it clearly in his mind, and he feels himself return it just as his past self giggles.

_"I'd pull you down on top of me."_

Everything else is slipping easily away. Dave's words tickle his ears, ghost over his skin. It's just him and his boyfriend again, sharing this, as he melts against the couch cushions, letting his vision blur. It feels almost as if they never said goodbye.

_"Are you naked in there?"_

_"Not yet..."_

_"'m naked."_

_"Oh,"_  he gasps, almost in stereo; past or present, he feels something stir deep inside at that thought. Dave naked and wanting him: watching him...

And it all seems to go too fast. He's telling Dave that he wants to touch his chest, that he wants to pinch his nipples, and Dave's growling his assent, making the buds vibrate against Kurt's ears in a way that makes his the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He can practically  _feel_  Dave's breath, warm and moist, against his skin.

He feels cool fingers, too. He knows they're his own but they no longer feel like they belong to him as they trace the hollows and curves of his collarbone before scrambling lower over his chest, pulling at the buttons on his short. It strikes him hard that Dave  _will_  be watching this, maybe not now, but...soon. And this is it; this is all he has now. His only way to connect with Dave; stuck on the wrong side of a black mirror.

But it doesn't matter, not really. Just like before, just like when they were on the floor, together or apart, Kurt will take whatever little part of Dave Karofsky he can get and he'll give all of himself in return.

_"_ _...move your hand lower. Tell me how your cock feels."_

_"It's hard, so hard and getting wet,"_ Dave moans in response, the sound borderline obscene in itself, and Kurt remembers all too clearly how it feels to have Dave's full cock in his hand, thumb caressing the moisture pooled at the tip in anticipation, _"...so fucking hard for you, Kurt."_

 _"_ _Oh god,"_  he yelps, unsure whether the words came from his lips or the buds in his ears,  _"_ _me too...I wish I was there, I wish I could touch you..."_

For the first time, it feels like Dave is right here, right  _there_  watching him, that he  _wants_  this. He palms desperately at the bulge in his pants. For the first time, it all feels okay.

 _"...Imagine it's me now,"_ Dave tells him _, "stroking you..."_

It feels better than okay. It feels incredible. Dave  _wants_  him to do this.

" _... rubbing my cock against yours, squeezing your ass..."_

Kurt focuses on that voice, deliciously raspy with arousal, the words of encouragement, the gorgeous little grunts of assent, as they echo through his skull, still sweet memory flooding his senses as he unzips and rubs his hand roughly against the swell of his erection, imagining Dave's hand, just like he told him to.

_"_ _Oh god yes..."_

_"...fuck, fuck, too close..."_

He gasps as he feels his cock spring free from where it had been trapped painfully against the rough zipper of his too-tight pants. The coolness bringing him out of his waking dream and back to reality. He blinks back at his blurred reflection. His eyes feel damp, as though he's crying, though it's at odds with everything the he feels. He  _feels_ like he's positively gleeful as he chews on his already tender bottom lip and listens to Dave's words mingle with his own desperate pleas in his ears: talking without making a sound.

"That's good. Keep your eyes open."

The request feels foreign, but he complies and watches himself slide lower on the couch, slide his jeans below his ass, taking his swollen cock fully in hand, and he feels almost like there should be a downside to this; there's something like regret or fear tugging at a distant corner of his mind, a silent alarm, but it quickly fades away as concentrates on watching, listening,  _feeling_.

_"Fuckingdamnitdavid..."_

He hears himself come before he feels it; it almost feels like he's watching himself through David's eyes as he strokes his length to the rhythm of Dave's staccato breaths. It's like he's hovering somewhere in the space between his body and his mind, detached for a moment before there's a sharp tug and he comes apart.

_"_ _Fuck, Kurt...was that...did you...?"_

Everything's in slow motion now; he's in freefall, lost between the sound he knows he's making, the voices in his ears and the snapshot memories in his mind.

His chest is heaving in time with his heartbeat and it's damp and sticky-warm from sweat and come. There's breathing too, loud and heavy, all around him.

_"... I made such a mess..."_

_"_ _You did?" It's almost a surprise when Dave answers; he's sure he just said those words aloud. Though he_ remembers _this. He remembers what comes next._

" _I wish I was...mmf...I wish I could taste you."_ He can hear the slapping sound of Dave stroking himself, short sharp tugs, just how he likes it.

_"You do?"_

" _I bet you taste so good, Kurt..."_ And Kurt's cock twitches against his thigh; David knows, now, just how he tastes.

_"Want me to tell you?"_

_"_ _You'd...fuck, you mean...?"_

_"Hmm, anything you want..."_

Kurt mimics his previous exploits, taking into account that Dave will see it, this time. He sucks his come-spattered thumb first, then hollows his cheeks around both his index and middle fingers before running his tongue wetly across his messy palm.

 _"_ _Fuck..."_ He half-smiles and lets his sticky-wet hand fall back into his lap; he knows Dave loves this part. He can hear him getting close.

_"You're right, I do taste good."_

_"_ _Oh, sofuckinghotKurtgonna..."_

_"Come for me, David."_

And he does; Kurt knows he always does.  _Did_. And he always wants him to. This way, at least he still can. He  _will_.

Kurt feels floaty and warm, just like he always does  _after_.

_"_ _I wish I could kiss you goodni—"_

There's a red flash behind his eyes as the track cuts off without warning.

"Okay, Kurt. That's a wrap. Great job."

He feels like he's missing something; that although he's done, he's not  _finished_. He wants to be wrapped in the warm embrace of Dave's sweet voice, he wants to hear the rest...he knows there's more and, as he feels himself come down, he wants to cling to it for comfort.

"That's...that's it? Can I—"

"Get yourself together and come through the door for clean-up when you're ready."

The lights return to full brightness and he sits up, wiping the remnants of come across his pant leg before pulling them back up and over his bare ass. His legs feel too shaky to stand, he feels pleasantly boneless despite the silent alarm sounding between his ears. He pops his buds out and stays slumped on the couch until his legs are stable enough to carry his weight.

He wonders if he'll remember the rest of Dave's words when the Compliance wears off.

Suddenly, he wonders if he'll remember anything at all. He's not sure why the idea of makes his shoulders start to tense. Right now, all he knows is that he feels so good that he almost doesn't want to forget.

Yet...there's that flash of red again, that distant tug at the thought.  _Almost_.

* * *

***Class D virgin – someone who's done everything but go 'all the way'.**

**Also, just FYI, the live call referenced here is the one from Chapter 12, which they ended by exchanging 'I love yous' for the first time.**


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two months and ten thousand words later, it's finally here! I am so incredibly sorry for the long delay since the last chapter. I have various excuses, but mainly this part was just really difficult to write. We're still far from happy funtimes yet, but I hope you're able to enjoy it as part of the journey.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me through this long and often painful story. Special thanks to spookybibi - officially the most patient beta reader in the word!

 

_387,635_

_Just fourteen million, seven hundred thousand credits to go, Dave told himself – part of latest his daily ritual – as he rose from his narrow bed. He'd beaten his personal best the day before, hitting one-hundred thousand credits in a single day of pedalling, and he felt wearily-satisfied as his muscles sang, the sinuous stretch of his calves, his thighs, his glutes, enough to cause him to wince as he stumbled towards the shower._

_Just one-hundred and fifty four days, he reminded himself, give or take, if he could keep up this pace, until he'd hit fifteen again. And then...well, then he'd have a voice, a chance, at least._

_Until then, he knew there was nothing else he could do but just keep counting credits, counting the days, counting the breathless hours of pedalling._

" _Hot, full spray," he muttered towards the panel and circled his shoulders under the water as it started to pound. His body ached beneath the spray, but it wasn't enough. He still felt numb where it counted, even as he watched through water-bleary eyes for that same Star Shot ad that had already been playing for a week on the default stream, the one that had become a strangely cruel comfort, the one that offered him some kind of last connection to Kurt._

_He watched and he waited, but it didn't come. He'd known that would happen eventually; he knew what it meant. Everything was disposable here, after all._

* * *

**_367,635_ **

"Karofsky!"

The voice comes from behind him, but he knows instantly who it belongs to. He stops in his tracks, halfway up the corridor, and waits for Az to catch up with him.

"You doin' okay?"

Dave heaves an irritated sigh. "You gonna ask me that every fucking day?"

"Prob'ly," Az replies calmly as they start to walk. "You gonna keep giving me the same bullshit answer?"

"What do you  _want_  me to say?" He snaps; he's not much been in the mood for talking lately, and especially doesn't feel like it today. What is there to talk about? Azimio already knows what's up; everyone knows  _everything_ , from his breaches and penalties to his run-ins with Nick to Kurt's 'success'. They all know exactly how he's doing. His whole life is like a fucking localized tabloid.

"I don't  _want_  you to say anything. You can be pissed at the whole world out there if you want, man, but...I'm  _here_. You know that, right?" His expression is stern, his words firm, but his eyes are soft before he trains his gaze back towards the floor. "Hell, that's all I am, is  _here_."

Dave feels something inside himself threaten to unravel. He's grateful, even if he can't find a way to show it, that Az  _is_  here. He does his best to shake the scowl off his face and mutters, "Thanks, man."

They walk in silence for a few seconds before Azimio gestures towards the dressing on Dave's hand. "How's that right hook doin' now, anyway?"

"Still hurts like a bitch," Dave looks down and tries to flex his fingers, still mostly clothed in the now-ratty bandage. As he turns his head his eyes catch on the more pronounced limp in Az's right leg and he feels a sudden twinge of pity; at least his own pain is self-inflicted. The physical part, anyway. He slows a little, "But it'll heal."

Az looks sideways at him, "Still, can't hurt half as much as Nick's face looks like it does."

"Yeah, well, that'll heal too." He's not proud of breaking Nick's nose, blackening his eyes, getting himself even more unwanted attention on the floor, but if it hadn't been Nick, he knows, it would've just been someone else. And it had worked like he knew it would. No one's dared give him shit since. "And it was kinda self defence."

"Yeah, you went self defence all over his sorry ass," Az smiles, though his eyes remain serious, tentative. "Good practice for your next Pro Virtua tryout."

"I don't think..." he bites his tongue then looks down at the floor before forcing himself to go on, "I'm not gonna try out for football next time."

"What? You switching to hockey or some shit instead?" Dave just shrugs in response and Az goes on, voice taking on a light, artificially cheerful quality. "That's cool. S'pose that self defence training is good either way. Man, still wish I coulda been there to see it, most excitement we've had on this floor in months and I was too busy grabbing garbage..."

Dave bites back a sour laugh at that, but the stifled sound leaks out in a feeble whine. That's just part of the problem: everyone seeing, knowing, everything he does. Their lives are all so devoid of any actual meaning or substance that they have to live vicariously through other peoples' misery. He grits his teeth and tries to gather himself; he knows Az means well.

There's suddenly a heavy hand on his shoulder, forcing him to stop as they round the corner towards the refectory. "How you really holdin' up, man? You're like a machine out there when you're pedalling, but...me and Santana, we're worried 'bout you."

Dave heaves another sigh and bites at the inside of his cheek before speaking quietly. "I'm just trying to get through the day."

"Yeah, I know how that is," Az murmurs, pausing to look at his feet before painting on a small smile. "Your boy  _made_  it. He sang real good out there and  _you_  gave him that chance, you should be proud of that."

He shakes his head and sucks down what he really wants to say.

"He  _made_  it. And you will too." Az pauses, removes his hand from Dave's shoulder and shoves it into the deep pocket of his jumpsuit before he goes on. "He'll be alright 'til then, man. He's tougher than he looks. Least you actually get to  _see_  him now, right?"

"Right, just..." he tries to swallow and hears a dry clicking in his throat, "this isn't how it's supposed to go. It's not—"

"Hell, man, don't be tripping over this. Even I'd suck a few dicks if it'd get to me to the edge."

Dave's stomach flips. His jaw clenches in time with his fist as he looks fiercely at Az.

"Fuck, it's true – I ain't messin' with you." Az's eyes are solemn, there's no mischief there, no sign of mockery or derision. "I don't blame him for taking what was on the table. And neither should you."

"I...fuck, I  _don't_..."

"Good," Az says and draws his hand back out of his pocket to slap Dave's back before he starts to back slowly away, "but don't go blaming yourself, either. Whole system's fucked, dude, only thing you can do is opt out or play your part," he yells, "and I ain't gonna let you opt out."

He stands there motionless, eyes following Az as he disappears around the corner.

He'll play his part, he thinks as he turns, finally, and makes his way to the refectory. But only for as long as he has to.

* * *

_382,435_

_Dave was back in the shower after a too-long day, discontentedly numb, half-watching the misty images on the mirrorscreen when that familiar hip-hop beat started to play. He stilled beneath the water, each and every muscle in his body growing tense._

_***A man speaking, low and husky, over a dirty bass line – the pulsing red and black Puck's Play logo filling the screen -** _

" _ **You've heard him sing,"**_  


–  _ **a clip of Kurt Hummel singing on the Star Shot stage, the sound of his voice remixed and fused incongruously with the backing track –**_  


_**#'And wh-when I touch-touch-touch you I feel hap-hap-happy inside...'#*** _

__

_He'd known it was coming – only too well – but hearing it, actually seeing it, still managed to send a fresh smack of dread to his gut._

_***"Now let's see what he can bring,"** _

–  _ **cut to Kurt post-Star Shot, styled and coiffed and licking his lips, reclining on a chic white leather couch –**_  


_**#'I can't hide...I can't hide...'#** _

" _ **as one of Puck's Playthings—"***_  


_Dave winced and ducked out from under the spray, flicking water across the screen as he jerked hastily with his left hand to try and skip it. The option came up on the screen:_ _***Pay to skip or Resume ad*** _ _and the display paused on a close-up of the new version of Kurt; his eyes narrowed, upturned lips plump and pink and unnaturally glossy._

_He wasn't ready to see it, not yet. Not ever. But...he wasn't ready to let it go, either; to flick his wrist and dispose of it, like it meant nothing. Like_ he _meant nothing._

 _It was still Kurt._ His _Kurt. And, to Dave, he meant_ everything _._

_He wasn't sure for how long he stood there, heart pounding too hard in his chest, blood rushing in his ears, just looking at the 2.0 version of the face he knew so well; it felt like forever, though he knew if it had been more than three minutes the ad would've resumed automatically._

_Despite the wrenching in his gut he felt a slim seeping of relief at the fact he was getting to see him at all. At least he had visual proof that Kurt was actually out there, that he looked good, that he was healthy. Maybe he was even happy._

_He squeezed his eyes closed against the image but couldn't fend off the fresh swarm of thought that had set upon his mind._

_Maybe he'd been wrong about the whole thing._

_He'd never factored in that possibility before; not once in all his worrying and postulating since the shit hit the fan. It's not what he would've chosen, not at all what he wanted, but he'd never let that taint his feelings if it was what Kurt chose._

_A spark of hope ignited a small, flickering flame inside him. Maybe Kurt knew what he was doing all along; maybe he had made the choice by himself. Maybe he'd just been star-struck and scared, maybe those tears he cried on the Star Shot stage were the tears of a hard decision hastily made and maybe the Compliance was nothing more than an energy drink after all. Maybe—_

  
_***** _ _**"Please, I...I really want it."*** _   


_The ad auto-resumed, cutting short his spiral of doubt, and he shivered, more from the sound of Kurt's breathy, broken voice echoing through the room than from the cool air drying his shower-damp skin._

_The image on the screen flickered and changed: Kurt's eyes were closed now and his fingers traced a clumsy pattern on the newly exposed skin, flawlessly pale and enticing, in the deep V of his partially unbuttoned shirt. Dave watched, transfixed, as Kurt_ _blinked too-slowly back at him; his gaze seemed unfocussed, detached, under heavily lidded eyes and his lips quivered before forming another loose smile. He looked...lost, wretchedly beautiful as his dewy eyes glistened in the artificial light, and Dave was slapped hard with the realization that there was no maybe about it – Kurt wouldn't have chose this – he was right first time after all._

_***"—He wants it bad but he needs YOUR help to get it—"*** _

_Dave heard a noise escape his throat – aggrieved and guttural – as he shut of the stream of water he'd only just realized was still pounding against his back, stumbled the rest of the way out of the shower, and grabbed at the edge of the sink for balance as he pressed his face close to the gleaming mirrorscreen._

_He could see his own warped reflection there, dark shadows framing wet, bloodshot eyes, as his likeness overlapped with the image of Kurt on the display, debauched yet diluted, as he looked up and into the lens, blinking lazily through artificially dark lashes—_

_***"-Puck's making another one my dreams come true. With either Blaine or...Sebastian-"*** _

_He saw his own stubbled jaw move, felt his mouth try to form futile words of protest, but nothing made it past his lips; instead his lungs constricted and he struggled just to draw breath. He knew he wasn't ready, not for this, not to hear_ that _. And if he wasn't ready, how the fuck must Kurt be feeling?_

_Dave felt like there was a hole in his chest where his heart should be._

_All he wanted to do was reach out and touch, to wrench Kurt from the screen with his fist, to bring him back and hold him close and make it all just...stop._

_Instead, he did all he could do and motioned towards the screen to skip the rest of the ad; guilt and regret and sickness and fucking loss filling that empty space inside him as soon as his wrist had flicked to confirm it._

* * *

**_567,923_ **

"What's going on with you?" Santana practically slams her ass down on the bench beside him. It's late morning and the refectory is dead – everyone's already on the floor and it's still too early for lunch – but her voice is little above a harsh whisper, "You look like shit."

Dave gives her a sidelong glance. "You really have to ask?"

"Don't sass me, Davey-bear, you know you won't win."

"I can't...I can't  _not_..." he sighs deeply and keeps his eyes on his hands. He's already sure she knows what he means. "Have you seen it?"

"It's not exactly my thing," she tells him, and when he side-eyes her again she drops the attitude, "but yeah, I watched it. And he looked hot. You might as well enjoy it now, I guarantee it'll be harder to watch once he's paired up with the meerkat or the hobbit, unless that's what you're  _into_..."

"Thanks for the advice," he growls and knocks some stray Wonderbar crumbs off the edge of the table. He doesn't care if it makes him the worst kind of hypocrite: the idea of either of those two –anyone but him – even  _touching_  Kurt makes his skin crawl.

"I've been there. Fuck, Dave, I'm  _still_  there," she attests and slides her hand along the tabletop, palm-down, towards his own. "Look, I...I know I suck at this touchy-feely bullcrap, but I do know what you're going through."

He heaves another defeated sigh. "I know you do."

"But you can't give up."

"Shit, I'm  _not_...I've been working my ass off, keeping my head down, trying to earn credits—"

"But for what?" She questions, interrupting him as she turns in her seat to look at his face. "Az told me you don't wanna try out for football again."

 _Of course he did_ , Dave thinks and feels his shoulders slump a little further. "I'm not good enough to make it. And it's not like...it's not even what I want anymore."

"So, what? You're just gonna stay here until your time's up?"

"Like you?" he barks at her.

She purses her lips but otherwise ignores the jibe. "Then what are you gonna do instead?"

He thinks it over for a second and shifts in his seat, trying in vain to put some distance between them. He huffs, "I don't know."

"You don't  _know_?" Santana asks, the volume of her voice creeping up as she widens her eyes is disbelief. "Bullshit. Then why are you pedalling so hard?"

He clenches his jaw and drags his tongue back and forth along the surface of his teeth. He can see from the corner of his eye that she's still glaring at him, unwilling to let it drop.

"Okay," he relents, and lets his eyes meet with hers fleetingly, "I have an idea, but..."

"What is it?" She demands.

"Just... _something_ ," He mutters, almost under his breath, already wishing he'd said nothing at all.

"Something?"

He squeezes his eyes shut against the scrutiny, "Something stupid, probably. But something that I want to do...something that'll count, whatever else happens."

"Quit with the cryptic shit, Karofsky."

He scrunches his eyes closed again and runs his palm over his still sweaty forehead. He's overtired from pedalling on no sleep and feels the tightly wound ball of emotion inside him threatening to work loose; he can't let that happen again. He still hasn't recovered from the damage  _that_  did last time and he knows he has to save it all now, to bottle up that fear and fury for when he'll need it most.

"I'm still not sure, exactly, I just...I need something to focus on, I need a fucking  _plan_  to get me through the day, and I need to try and make things right, even though it's all too late anyway..."

"Just _tell_  me, David."

He squares his jaw and looks at her, shakily exhaling before he says it. "Star Shot."

"Fucking  _Star Shot_? Are you kidding me?"

He cringes and there's a sudden growling sound that could only have come from his own throat. "This is why I didn't wanna tell you."

Her mouth hangs slightly agape and her nose wrinkles as she looks at him, "But what would you even...?"

"Fuck you." He spits and tries to stand before her firm grip on his wrist stops the movement.

"No," she says, eyes boring into his, fierce but not cruel, not this time. "Seriously, what are you gonna try to do? Maybe...maybe I can help."

He sinks back onto the hard refectory bench and pushes the thumb and forefinger of his good hand deep into eye sockets that feel dry and gritty. It all makes at least  _some_  kind of sense in his mind, but as he tries to articulate his plan the words jumble and stick in his throat before they reach his tongue. "I just want a chance to...to tell that fucker, those  _fuckers_ , what I think of them, to show everybody what a fucked up system we're part of, because... _fuck_ , San. I don't know. I just want to go back there. I just want Kurt to know, even if it's the last thing I ever get to do for him, that I didn't just walk away...that I  _tried_."

Dave avoids looking her in the eye as a long beat of silence draws out between them.

"Okay," she says eventually, her reply comes calm, matter-of-fact, and accompanied by a little shrug, "I get it. I get it more than anyone," she smiles. "And I actually trust you."

"Hmmf," he grunts, "you trust me to  _what_? Make an ass of myself?"

She looks at him for what feels like forever; her dark eyes look sadder, softer than he's ever seen them, before she answers, "To make it count."

* * *

_380,935_

_He didn't bother with a towel, just left foot-shaped puddles across the floor as he moved away from the sight of his own, useless reflection and his diminishing credits and headed back through his pod to his bed where he sat and stared as his broken vis-wall, trying to focus more on the ragged sound of his breathing and less on the lingering mental picture of Kurt,_ his _Kurt, on Puck's Play._

 _He couldn't watch it. Mostly, he couldn't bear the thought of seeing Kurt like that: exposed and exploited and a whole fucking world away. Yet...he couldn't deny there was a part of him – a not-so-small part – that wanted to see it. Not just the ad itself, but the whole sordid vid it was trailing: the twenty minute_ private preview _of Kurt Hummel._

_He felt the burn of hot tears sting his eyes as that lowdown part of him tried to rationalize it. He knew he would've jumped at the chance to watch and more if Kurt had just been some pretty nameless face on stream, so why shouldn't he be able to watch? He was crazy in love with the guy. Why shouldn't he allow himself to see what he'd heard Kurt do dirty dozens of times with reciprocal fervour? He felt a red wave of possession flood his conscience. If anyone had that right, it was him._

_He scrunched his eyes shut as a violent shudder worked its way through his body,_ "...you'll watch, at first...you'll torture yourself..." _Santana had told him, and he already knew beyond doubt that she was right._

 _Dave eyed his credits for several long minutes, looking at them like he was daring them to look back. He felt at war with himself. He fucking hated that part of him; the part that wanted to fully explore the freedom of just_ looking _at Kurt,_ seeing _him, in a way he was never allowed to while they were both still pedalling. He hated that, in spite of the circumstances, in spite of the dull ache in his chest, just the briefest sight of Kurt's face still made his pulse race and his guts wrench and his skin tingle with_ want _._

_He scrubbed his hand roughly over his damp face, fingers itching to make it happen even though he knew it would make him just as bad as all the rest. He knew he was kidding himself if he thought he wouldn't watch it eventually, anyway; if he actually thought he could deny himself any chance to see, and hear, his boyfriend again. It was hard to believe that Kurt had only been gone for twelve days. It should have been nothing, in the grand scheme of things. They'd been apart for longer before, without sight or sound of one another, but this time felt different. This time, Dave felt like he was stuck in a deep yawning chasm of time that he knew he wouldn't be able to crawl out of anytime soon._

_He loaded up his dash, shaky hand stilling before he even got to the Puck's Play menu. Maybe he knew he would watch but that didn't mean he was ready right away; though if not now, when? When everyone else had already seen it? When there'd already been some other guy's hands on him, someone else's cock in his mouth or his ass or..._

" _Fuck!" Dave hammered his bandaged fist against his bed and released a grating sob. He couldn't stand those thoughts any more than the alternative._

_He sat there listening to his own stuttering breath for long enough that his exposed skin grew dry and cold, the last few droplets of water that clung to the hair on his chest and his calves evaporating along with his resolve._

_He blinked at the chrono on his wall. It read 20:31 and he knew he wouldn't last until lights out, knew he was wasting more than just time by delaying the inevitable. He had told Kurt he'd watch, whatever happened. He'd told him he'd be watching, waiting, pedalling his ass off until he could get back to him, and he wasn't about to break any of those promises._

_Before he could change his mind or come to his senses or lose his fucking wits, he loaded Puck's Play and deleted his previous preferences, all his saved keywords – male, twink, oral, anal, frottage, rimming, spanking – and replaced them with two simple words instead that described everything he was looking for, the only thing he wanted, now:_ Kurt Hummel _._

* * *

**_824,966_ **

"So, what  _exactly_  are you gonna do when you get there?"

Dave frowns and shakes his head as Santana glues herself to his side. She's barely let him out of her sight all week; tagging along on every trip to the refectory, the vendors, the restroom. Az is just as bad; he hovers at Dave's back on the floor as he pedals, smiles at him a little too much and, on the rare occasion Santana's not around, walks with him down the corridor every time he has to take a piss.

He's not sure what they think he's going to do if left to his own devices. If he wanted to do any worse to himself than he already had then he has a sharp piece of glass and fourteen hours alone in his pod every night to do it in.

Of course, they know that, and he plans to keep it that way. Besides, things aren't that bad. At least...not yet. Though he knows there's a chance that it's not even him they're trying to protect.

She's still looking at him as the near the refectory, waiting for an answer more substantial than a shake of the head.

"I don't know," he offers, because it's the truth, "try to tell them what I think of them, I guess. What I think of...all of it."

"That won't cut it for long – don't they, like, screen you for crazy beforehand?"

He side-eyes her at that, though he knows she's right. But that's where Compliance carton comes in. And the piece of scissor-sharp glass he has stashed alongside it but, crazy or not, he's still not telling her that part. "Yeah, well, I guess I'll figure it out. I've got plenty of time."

"Yeah," she regards him with sad eyes. Again. "You do."

They grab their usual lunch from the vendors. He's used to having her there with him now, instead of Kurt. He doesn't mind the company. It's...distracting, at least. And he knows her feelings won't be hurt if he wants to eat in silence and ignore her questions, just like he knows that she'll have his back if something happens that leads to him...unleashing the  _fury_. She has plenty fury of her own.

"Why didn't you ever...what happened with you and Brittany?" He's never asked her directly before; he heard most of what he knows about Santana's past from Azimio.  _She won't talk about that shit_ , he'd said. But given the circumstances, it's more than relevant and Dave's curious. Besides, he's tired of only ever being on the receiving end of these kinds of questions.

She doesn't visibly react to his enquiry at first, just keeps chewing on a bite of her Wonderbar. "We tried out for  _Dance Your Ass Off_  at the same time," she answers flatly. "We had the same routine – used to practice in the restroom, here in the refectory, everywhere we could – we thought we could be perky cheerleaders or something equally inane, just something fun to get us out of the mid-zones. We planned it so we'd audition at the same time, make it through in the same group, win that shit and be together on the other side."

"And...?"

"I didn't make it past the pre-show," she sighs and momentarily stops shredding the Wonderbar wrapper in her hands to look at him. "There were all these questions. Bullshit questions. Like, 'how far would you be willing to go for fame?' and 'why have you kissed a girl but never a boy?' and all this other stuff about me and Brit, about our past and our breaches, all stuff that had nothing to do with  _dancing_. And, you might've noticed during the time I've graced you with my presence, I don't tolerate bullshit too well."

"No way." Dave says, tone level.

"It's true." She smiles, grateful for his attempt at sarcasm, before she shrugs and goes on, "Anyway, next time I saw Brit – next time I even knew what had happened – she was on Pole Position and I was back here."

"That's the...exotic dancing show, right?"

"The soft core  _strip_  show, yeah," she nods. "By the time I had the credits to retry, she was already all over Puck's Play, very publicly dating Artie Abrahams—"

"Who?" Dave asks and drops the remainder of his protein bar on the table. He's not hungry anymore.

She scowls, "That Dream Stream doofus with the robotic legs."

"Right."

"I still tried again, but I fucked it up again. I...lost it during pre-selection when they asked me all the same bullshit questions." She pauses and sucks her lips into a thin line. "And then...when I was saving for my third fifteen, Brit went mainstream. I was grateful for that. She was judging on Star Shot and I was gonna go there and get to see her again, and I thought she was gonna see me and smile and make me a star and take me home with her and..." she trails off, smile fading. "Anyway, none of that happened."

"You didn't make it?"

"Oh, I made it, because I knew how to answer their bullshit questions. But the judges didn't like me, and she...she didn't even  _remember_  me."

Dave doesn't know what to say. His mind is a mixed mess of renewed hope and unwanted thought.

"At least, she pretended not to. I just felt...numb. Sick when I left. I don't even remember getting back to my pod."

"Did they make you drink a Compliance?"

"A what?"

He swallows, wondering if he should've asked. "They gave Kurt this drink, and then when he went on stage he seemed...out of it. I wondered if—"

"It's so fucking surreal out there, Dave. You have no idea. It's hard to act normal when you're under those lights and that kind of pressure."

"Yeah," he nods slowly, still not convinced, although he guesses he'll find out, "maybe."

There's a little patch of silence between them, but Dave decides to drop the subject of the Compliance and Santana picks up where she left off. "Anyway, I felt stupid after that. Then I realized that she'd never actually mentioned me or given me any kind of sign that she still wanted me to come after her, that she missed me...I spent so many credits rewatching everything she'd ever done – every show, every interview, anything I could find. But there was nothing," she looks at him and forces a small smile, "at least you already have that."

"What?"

"The penguin pin? You saw it, right? Weren't penguins your weird little coupley thing?" She's looking at him like he's some kind of crazy, but hearing her acknowledge it makes his heart sing.

"Yeah, but I...I guess I just thought that it might just wishful thinking on my part, or coincidence, or—"

"No, Davey. I'm pretty sure that was for you," Santana interrupts then pauses, her face turning grim as her voice softens. " _She_  never did anything like that. I mean, I'm not stupid. I  _know_  everything's scripted and edited, but...Kurt found a way, right? There's always a way. With Brit it was like we'd...like I'd never even existed. In interviews, she never even talked about me as a friend. She said she was  _all alone_  before she got to the edge and that..." she stops for a moment and chews on her lip. Dave waits for her to continue. Her eyes are glazed as she shakes her head sadly, though she seems well-practiced at holding back tears. "By that time, I was just so angry that...well, here I am, the bitter bitch you know and love," she pauses again and looks away, towards one of the illuminated screens on the vendors. "I just started to think...what's the point, y'know? If you don't wanna play their games then they're not interested."

There's another long silence. Dave doesn't know what to say. Those thoughts of his own are still there; those ugly, stabbing thoughts that nip and jab at his consciousness. He knows Kurt's still thinking about him now, but it'll be five months, minimum, before he can get a ticket for Star Shot and that's a long time anywhere; he was head over heels with Kurt long before they reached the five month mark, and out there Kurt has the kind of freedom he never had here.

He'll have  _Blaine_  or  _Sebastian_  or some other good-looking guy, someone successful...sign or no sign, Dave knows he'll be so far in Kurt's past by then that none of this might even matter.

He rests an elbow on the cold refectory table and cradles his head in his hand. All he knows for sure is that he won't give up until Kurt tells him, until he hears it with his own ears, that he doesn't want him anymore. If he can at least let Kurt know how he still feels, how he'll always feel, even if—

"She only ever did het stuff though, when she was on Play," Santana speaks, jarring Dave from his own train of tortuous thought. She pulls her lips into a small embittered smile. "I never had to see her with another girl."

"Yeah well, I don't think Kurt would cut in straight porn."

"I don't think he would." They share a serious look before Santana's smile becomes genuine, familiar. "Unless, maybe, he was the gi—"

"Don't you fucking  _dare_." He warns, shaking his head, raising his voice and, in spite of himself, in spite of the lack of levity in the situation, he smiles too, for the first time in what feels like forever.

* * *

_360,935_

_A white glow illuminated the few working panes of his main vis-wall, stinging his eyes with blinding light then assaulting his senses with terrible beauty._

_***"I just want to love what I do...and be loved for doing it..."*** _

_It felt the same as before. It was Kurt, but not quite. There was something missing; that usual hot spark, that wide-eyed charm. Presented in close-up, Dave could see his eyes were hooded and heavy, his pupils mere pinpricks in a sea of tear-washed blue. His ever-present smile seemed watery, though remained unwavering even as he blinked a little too slowly and, although he wasn't slurring his words – he was sure he sounded just fine, perfectly normal, to the untrained ear – Dave was more than qualified when it came to knowing the nuances of Kurt's voice: whether speaking in anger, in jest, or in lust. He knew how it all should sound and this wasn't anything he'd heard before. This was cautious and curtailed; this was Kurt altered by something: the director, the drug-laced drink...or both._

  
_***"Everything is so beautiful here...** _ _**the view, the clothes, the people. I...I have to pinch myself every day to make sure it isn't all a dream."*** _   


_Kurt spoke, stilted; his voice backed by a soft rhythmic beat over an unfamiliar pop melody. Dave could see, despite the broken panels on his wall, a lingering, stylized shot of long, lightly muscled legs, the slight swell of a toned ass, all wrapped in skin-tight black pants, as he walked towards a luxe leather couch. The_ _angle changed as Kurt sat, his face mostly visible, his body less so; jagged patches of missing glass blocking most of the elongated view. Dave thought that missing some of what was to come might not be such a bad thing. He could still hear him, and that was painful enough. His speech continued, slow and measured, practiced, though that seemed okay too, in its own warped way; that had to mean he was only acting._

_Dave craned his neck to watch the high, working panels of the screen. The swaying motion of the lens slowed and closed-in further, steadily tracking the delicate lines of Kurt's face, the deliberate flutter of eyelashes, the soft, high curve of an artificially rosy cheekbone, as the husky drawl of an unseen man's voice began to speak—_

_***"Tell us about the new men in your life, Kurt..."*** _

— _and the shot panned to the slow curl of Kurt's lips, the understated angle of his jaw, before cutting painfully away to the image of a sultry-smiling Blaine Anderson, shirtless, hair curly and dishevelled, back pressed against a similarly stark white backdrop. Dave felt a horrid pang of guilty remorse at the sight of that face, joining the envy and hurt already pushing at his insides. Kurt spoke, slow and dreamy in response—_

_***"Blaine is...very sweet. He's so good looking and charming and...experienced. He's teaching me everything I need to know—"*** _

— _the distant voice interrupted, low and lascivious, causing Dave to hold back a shuddering breath._

_***"—everything?"*** _

_He tried in vain to tear his eyes from the half-visible close up of Kurt's mouth: wet tongue running slowly between the seam of lips, white teeth pressing into the tender pink flesh of his bottom lip before he demurred—_

_***"Um...maybe not everything...yet."** _

_Dave exhaled with an inadvertent whimper and felt his stomach drop as the faceless voice went on—_

_***"I heard Scandals Sebastian wants to teach you a few tricks too..."** _

_**"Sebastian Smythe...he's quite a character..."** _

— _ **cut to a sweaty, shirtless Sebastian, on a dancefloor, beckoning the camera towards him with a long finger, a wink, and a toothy grin—**_  


" _ **...he's very...handsome..."***_  


_Dave blanched at Kurt's words, at how the disembodied voice continued to talk as the camera drifted lower, focussing on the column of fair skin at his collar, the downward motion of his fingers, toying in turn with each of the fastened buttons on his shirt._

_***"Do you know which one of them you want to be your first? Which one of them you want to fuck that tight little virgin ass of yours?"** _

_**"Oh, I..."** _

— _ **smile faltering, the camera cut and shifted to the slow bob of his Adams apple—**_  


_**"They're both...so...hot, I don't think I could choose by myself..."*** _

_His fist curled in his lap, threatening to bruise the skin beneath it. He'd been expecting this, all of it; he'd spent endless dark hours creating his own brutal versions of what could be in his mind, but when it came in reality the hit didn't land any softer just because he'd been expecting the blow._

_***"That's where our viewers come in, right?"*** _

_Dave wasn't dumb enough not to know how this worked; he knew that, whether he'd been coerced or convinced or even somehow conned, Kurt was just playing a part as he nodded mutely, wet lips slightly parted._

_***"So tell the viewers how you'd want it to start, if you had either of those sexy stars, hot and horny and here with you right now..."** _

_**"Um...I kind of have this fantasy...where a...sexy guy gets on his knees and...takes my cock into his mouth."*** _

_Kurt's eyes widened for a fraction of a second as he spoke and his lips twitched at the corner as he pressed them closed, fighting what might have been the threat of a real smile. Something flashed in those eyes, then; something bright and familiar that Dave could only hope was caused by the memory of_ him _on his knees, of_ his _mouth on Kurt, by the knowledge that_ he'd _be watching and remembering that, too._

 _The thrill of that memory coursed through him, but it didn't feel sexual, the_ want _he felt tearing at the edges of his psyche; at least, most of it didn't. He wanted to tell Kurt that he was sorry for letting this happen, for_ making _it happen. He wanted to take back that first stolen kiss that was responsible for all of this; if neither of them had ever known how good the pres of warm lips felt then they wouldn't have been so willing to ruin everything just to feel it again. Mostly, though, what he wanted was to wrap Kurt in his arms and feel his breath, warm and moist on his neck, as proof that he was_ there _, that he was_ his _and that he didn't hate him for_ this _._

_***"Imagine sliding your cock into Blaine's pretty mouth, Kurt...or fucking Sebastian's face...is that what you want?"** _

" _ **Please...I want it..."***_  


_The lens cut away from Kurt again to images of Blaine Anderson and Sebastian Smythe, side by side this time, eyeing each other predatorily, like they might be about to fuck or fight. He wondered for the first time ever if these boys were just like Kurt; stolen away on a promise of something_ more _, living a doped-up dream. The notion didn't really make him feel any better, just somehow managed to tether his self-loathing to his mounting jealousy._

_When the picture on the screen cut back to Kurt he was reclining low on the couch, head back, elegant expanse of neck and collarbone exposed as his chest began to heave and he bit down hard on his bottom lip, eyes closed and hands wandering._

_The remote voice continued to whisper obscenities through the looping music._

_***"Oh god...I wish...I wish I could touch..."*** _

_Dave felt his stomach roll and his cock twitch against his thigh. Kurt's eyes were closed tight, head thrown back as he mumbled and gasped, hint of sexy smile playing at the edges of his lips as he tugged at the buttons on his shirt, nimble fingers uncharacteristically clumsy as he tried to expose more perfectly pale, taut skin._

_It was painful to watch, because watch was all he could do and he wanted so much more. Dave shifted and his gaze finally fell as he felt his nails digging into his bare thigh, leaving angry red indentations behind. He withdrew his hand, still emblazoned with the mocking Star Shot logo, the bold F barely faded, still there to serve as an eager reminder of what all he was: the fag, the fury, the failure, the fuck up._

_It took all the strength he had not to pull the saved spike of glass out from under his bed; he wanted to scratch a different kind of itch, to replace the sting of temporary tears with the slash of something sharper, more permanent, more meaningful._

_When he tilted his head back to look at the screen Kurt was licking his lips again, moaning wantonly, stroking one hand down his chest as the other—_

Fuck _. How had he not noticed that sooner?_

 _Kurt's eyes fluttered open, locked on the lens, as his fingers found the shiny brooch on the breast of his open shirt: the clear outline of a penguin, sparkling against the light, as_ _Dave watched Kurt's thumb stroke tenderly across the trinket, his lips stretching into a small, secret smile that he hoped – that he fucking_ knew – _had to be meant for him._

_Dave could feel his heart beat again, hard and strong in his chest, pumping blood around his previously numb body, as he stood and, leaving the sliver of glass in its safe place, stalked back towards his bathroom to load the vid on the fully functional mirrorscreen there, where he could check for sure that he wasn't seeing things, that he wasn't delirious or delusional, and where he could have a clear, unbroken view of the rest._

* * *

_**901,273** _

_***"You can't have all the fun, but you can still choose which one..."** _

_**Vote Now!** _

_**Team Blaine or Team Sebastian?** _

" _ **Click now to pick which Puck's Play gay YOU think should pop Kurt's cherry!"***_  


Dave's skin feels too tight to contain the sudden rush of blood pumping through it. He doesn't bother drying his hands, just smacks off the flickering screen with a wet palm and storms out of the restroom, kicking as hard as he can at the swing door to exit.

"Watch it!" A guy shrieks and blocks Dave's path. He recognizes him from the floor: Chris Strando. They've been pedalling seven bikes apart for more than a year and have never exchanged a word. "Jesus, fuckin'  _crazy_ is right..." he mutters as he tries to push past.

Dave pulls roughly at the guy's retreating shoulder so he's forced to face him again. "What did you call me?"

"Dude," he tries to shake off Dave's grip, "you just gave me the fright of my fuckin' life..."

"You say a fucking word to me ever again, I'll give you more than just a fright. Understand?"

Strando nods and hold his hands up in surrender.

Santana is waiting for him in the corridor, one eyebrow cocked and arms folded across her chest.

"What just happened with him?"

His blood is still simmering beneath the surface. He glowers at her and says only, "He caught me at a bad time."

"Hmm, and you're usually so perky in the mornings."

He sighs as she falls into step beside him.

"I have an idea that I need to talk to you about," Santana tells him, raising her hands to tighten her ponytail as they reach the floor's entrance, "but I don't want to discuss it here."

He rolls his eyes at her sudden melodramatics. He's in no mood for another lecture.

She leans in towards him and whispers conspiratorially, "I'll live call you tonight."

He doesn't relish the idea, but it sounds like a promise rather than a request, and before Dave can object or query further she's sashaying ahead, back up the walkway and onto her bike.

When he follows her she catches his eyes across the gap of Nick's still-empty spot and smiles at him, small and, if it was from anyone other than Santana, he might say it was even sweet. Dave returns it with resistance and looks back at his dash. He has a hundred thousand credits to earn before he can go back to his pod and find out what she's up to, so for the rest of the day he keeps his eyes on the fake horizon, the virtual road stretched in front of him, and tries to reassure himself that he's riding towards something real.

* * *

_359,935_

_When the extra credits dropped and the mirrorscreen synched with the already streaming vid, Dave rewound thirty seconds and found there was no mistaking the distinct penguin pin, clear on the unmarred screen, worn, he hoped, for him; because Kurt knew he'd be watching, because Kurt knew that he'd want, that he'd_ need _, a sign, just like the last time they were apart, that he was still there, that he still cared despite...whatever else might be happening._

_Dave reached out in vain to touch, to feel an approximation of closeness, but the cold glass just left him wanting all the more. He pulled his hand back and braced it on the sink again, watching as the lens began to trail lower, zooming in on Kurt's hand rubbing flat and hard against the notable bulge in his pants._

_He could feel his already semi-hard cock respond to the sight, incontestable arousal and the resulting shame clouding the fear and confusion, the loath hope, he felt otherwise._

_He'd thought of seeing Kurt like this so many times, had revelled in the private promise of one day making it so. And he'd always thought he'd have to share Kurt with the world in some way, but he never thought it would be like this._

_He tried to imagine himself in Kurt's shoes – would he want Kurt to watch – to get off, even – if it was him up there? Dave remembered Kurt telling him how he'd jerked off after seeing him on stream during his Pro Virtua try out ("Seeing you smack into those other big, burly guys...it was hot." ) and he'd liked the idea of that, he'd liked it a lot, but this...this was completely different. Wasn't it?_

_***" The boys want to see your pretty little virgin cock, Kurt...stroke it for them, show them that it's not so little, show them how you like it so they know how to do you right when the time comes..."** _

" _ **Oh...fuck...yes..." ***_  


_He'd left the volume low, but could still hear the uninvited words, muffled through the distant thrum of bass._

_When Kurt slid his dark pants down to reveal skin that was almost as white as the couch underneath him, Dave's eyes were drawn instantly to the contrasting dusky-pink cock that sprung free and stood to attention, settling almost flat against his belly. He felt his mouth water,_ _Kurt's apparent excitement fuelling his own; the sight and sound of him not quite familiar enough to resist, all too longed for, and he felt his own cock jump as his mind filled with a tormenting mix of memory and fantasy, his erection pressing against the cold metal curve of the sink as it grew, untouched, to full hardness._

_Kurt's hand reached slowly for his cock, fingers dancing across his toned stomach en route, over the deliciously sharp point of a hipbone, pressing against the slight shadow of the bruise that Dave had put there, weeks before. That thought, that memory, made his gut coil tight with bitter arousal, and he couldn't deny the wave of feeling rising in him, even though he already knew just how hollow he'd feel when it passed._

_His hips bucked as he watched Kurt's do the same, up and off the couch, his pants falling beneath the smooth curve of his ass, his erection sliding into the tight circle of his fist, exposed chest rising and falling in quick-time with each thrust as his tongue laved at his bottom lip before his teeth worried at it. Dave knew how it felt to drag his teeth over the plump flesh of that lip, he knew exactly how it tasted, and he missed it with a kind of hunger he'd never felt for anything else before._

_He was trembling a mess of contradictory feelings; hope and despair, lust and logic, all battling against each other as he grasped roughly at his own cock with his left hand, watching as Kurt's lips shone, saliva-wet, and formed a perfect little 'o' around a groan that meant he was close, his body jerking with the motion of his hand as he began to fall apart; Dave's whole world's falling apart right along with him._

_***"Fu...damn...da..."** _

_" **That's it, come for us Kurt, get yourself good and messy, show us how dirty you like to get..." ***_

_Dave felt a sudden flash of guilt; a claiming, jealous fury, at the renewed realization that this wasn't just for him, that there would be other guys in_ this _zone and_ that _zone out there watching Kurt, wanting him, jerking off, too. Nausea threatened his own hard-on but, shamefully, still not enough to quash it altogether._

 _He choked back another sob; a pitiful, gurgling, sexless sound as he continued to fist his dick, willing the erection away, wanting this all to be over. It was torture and surrender all at once; a shadow of the closeness he craved, but_ fuck _, he felt desperate for something, and even a shadow was better than a spectre._

 _The heat of orgasm started to build deep in his core, because the sounds that Kurt was making, the sweep of his fist and the biting need there in his eyes were all once_ his _. The taste of Kurt's skin, soft against his tongue, salty with sweat, the natural tangy sweetness of his eager, wet mouth and his hot, pulsing cock all belonged to_ him _and no one else, but now...well, now none of that could matter, because he knew that he had – and please, fucking god, he had to believe that he'd_ alway _s have – his heart._

_And as long as he never had to share that part of Kurt with anyone then he knew they'd be okay. That was the part he'd always wanted the most, anyway._

_He came right after Kurt did, there on his screen, sloppy and painful, with his eyes trained on the prostrate form of Kurt, running his fingers lazily through the glossy-white stripes of come decorating his chest, licking the sticky mess from his fingers, the way he always had_ before _, just for him, for them._

_The vid ended abruptly, a pop-up prompting him to vote for the one he wanted to take Kurt's virginity flashing on his screen as he clung for dear life to the sink, knees threatening to buckle under his weight as he was forced to see his own sorry face in the black mirror before him._

_He didn't vote – how the fuck could he? – and he didn't clean himself up, instead he crept back to his bed and curled into a foetal ball, restarting the vid when he could muster the strength, paying another twenty thousand for the privilege, and he watched it all again on his broken vis-wall, he relived the pain and the hope and helplessness, and he slept when the lights went out, for the first time in weeks, right through until the cockerel crowed and woke him the next morning, lying cold and uncovered on his bed, dried come on his belly, spent tears on his cheeks and a renewed resolve in his mind._

* * *

_**981,447** _

When the familiar incoming alert trills in his pod that night, he almost doesn't answer. He hasn't ever spoken to anyone but Kurt like this and, even though he knows it's Santana calling, when he hears her voice in his ears instead of  _his_ , he still feels an irrational pang of disappointment.

"I want to make you an offer," she says without the formality of a greeting. "Well, two, really. Firstly, you have to let me help you fake some kind of routine to get onto Star Shit."

"Routine? Like a  _dance_  routine?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks, but I don't think—"

"What other bright idea do you have to use as cover for whatever stunt you plan on pulling out there?"

"I haven't..." he feels suitably castigated. "I guess I've still got time to figure that part out."

"Yeah, well, that's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about."

Dave stays silent, though he narrows his eyes at her Counter in suspicion at the thought of whatever else she might have up her sleeve.

"Did Az ever tell you about our deal?" She's all business, and whether he really wants to hear it or not, this is draining her digits, not his, so he might as well listen. It's a welcome distraction from his usual dismal routine, if nothing else.

"What deal?"

"We had an agreement that if we didn't break out, if we both got stuck here forever, that when it came time to produce we'd do it together."

The air around him feels suddenly thick, stale. "What was in it for Az?"

"Are you kidding? Dude's been crazy in love with me since he first saw my ass bent over that bike seat. I figured it was better to wind up with a guy I know, and like at least a little, than some random hetero loser."

"And he was cool with that?" Dave isn't sure he's convinced by that. It seems so...cold.

"Yeah, unless he met someone else that he actually fell in love with first, which – let's face it, while he was still comparing every girl to me – was never gonna happen. Anyway, he fucked up that plan by opting out, so—"

His head spins. "Are you asking me to—"

"Yeah, genius. But I know you like a little more meat that what I've got between my legs, so I wanna make you an even better offer."

"I'm listening," Dave says, hesitantly.

"I want to give you the credits you need for Star Shot in exchange for pairing up to produce if it all goes belly up."

He pauses in shock, and pulls in a breath before daring to speak. "Santana, if this is—"

"I'm not finished." She cuts him off with a characteristic bark. " _Or_ , if you do make it, somehow, then you pay me back by bringing me to the edge when you can afford it."

He doesn't know what to say to that.

"I don't want to stay here anymore than you do, trust me," she says before she pauses, sighs, and her voice softens. "But I don't have enough delusional hope left in me to even try again." He hears her take a measured breath and when she speaks again, it's with that familiar rancour. "Put all that wasted testosterone and sexual frustration to some use. Turn that impotent rage of yours into something entertaining. Tell those bastards what those of us who aren't just happy to be mindless drones are thinking and see what happens."

He swallows the bile he can feel rising in his throat. "I can't take those kinds of digits from you."

"Kurt took them from you."

"That was different," he huffs.

"Dave, I have another year here. It's not that long. I've thought about this. If it doesn't work, the year you get out is my last year before I have to produce. We pair up on the outside, we don't have to fake it, no one's feelings get hurt, and we pump out a badass little  _cafe con leche_  pedaller of our own."

"How do you even know, if I made it, that I'd stick to the bargain? You don't have any way of—"

"Are you telling me you'd fuck me over?"

"No, I'm just saying that I could."

Her voice softens again. "But I know you wouldn't."

He knows he wouldn't, too. But still. "I might."

"Davey bear, I know you better than you think. And you wouldn't dare."

"Santana, I know..." he trails off. He knows, logically, that this isn't the brightest idea he's ever had. But he still feels like it's his only hope. "This is fucked up enough, I don't wanna waste what you've worked for on this."

"But if you go now, maybe you can get through to Kurt while he still remembers why he ever cared about you in the first place. Maybe you could...stop it."

"I..." He chokes on the very thought. He doesn't want to wait another five months. He doesn't want to wait another five  _minutes_.

"You know what I spent my last fifteen million on? One of those Companion Counters," she laughs, but it's a sour, sad sound that rattles unpleasantly in his skull. There's no joy in it. "It looks just like her. I even turned down the A.I. so it'd have her...innocence," she pauses, sniffs, "and you know what?"

"What?"

"Seeing that fucking thing on my wall when I get back to my pod is the highlight of my miserable day." She pauses again, and there's really nothing for Dave to say to fill the silence until she's ready to go on. "Now, as awesome as I know I seem on the outside, even I know that that's a little bit pathetic, and I don't want you to end up like me."

"Shit, 'Tana, I don't even know what to say right now."

"Say yes."

"I just...you know I'm probably just gonna fuck this up like I fucked up everything else. You have to be sure about this."

"Would we even be having this conversation if I wasn't?"

Dave almost smiles at her badass tone. "Let me think about it?"

"What's to think about? You sit on your ass watching, feeling sorry for yourself while other homo whores get all up in your boy's business, or you run the risk of making an ass out of yourself in front of millions of people to try and do something about it." She laughs. "It's a no brainer."

"I know, just...just let me sleep on it, okay?"

"You actually sleep these days?"

He laughs at that. "Not much." Maybe she does know him too well.

"In that case, rest on it, at least," she tells him. "I'm not going anywhere, I can wait forever, but I know from experience that Kurt won't."

She disconnects without saying goodbye, and as Dave curls into himself, under the blanket on his bed, his mind is abuzz with possibility. Santana's offering him the chance to get at least a message to Kurt, maybe the chance to see him and touch him again, if he's really lucky, or it might just be his chance to really fuck everything up forever.

He felt so confident before, when it was a distant prospect, an abstract plan; he felt so sure of what he should do. But now that it's real, he's back to being that same old coward he used to be, the same frightened, ordinary boy that's too scared to speak up, to tell the truth, to stand up for himself in any way that actually matters.

He's crying again, but he's so used to the feeling of damp tears on his face that it barely even registers. He forces himself to suck it up, to  _think_ , to answer the question praying on his mind. Does he want to produce with Santana if all else fails? Would it be better or  _worse_  to live that lie with someone who really, truly understands it? He opens his eyes and looks at Santana's Counter, still there on his dash. It's not what he wants, but it's still miles better than any alternative he can think of, and he's not vain enough, not naive enough, to think, at least not any more, that what he wants actually matters.

Az was right: the system is fucked up. He always suspected as much, but now he knows for sure. Because he knows, now, that all of this – this  _fucking_  circus – it isn't for them. The system's not set up for the benefit of him or Kurt or Santana or Azimio or even fucking Nick. Yeah, it's there to make sure that they play their parts, that they're productive – that they produce energy, produce kids, produce credits. And they get to have a little fun along the way, play their little games, but the dice are always loaded.

They'll do okay if they're good little citizens; straight, unassuming consumers that pedal and eat and watch and spend and smile while they propagate the myth, without question. And if they have something – some talent, some skill – that can be used to help keep everyone else amused while they do as they're told, then all the better. But no-one cares about family or friendship or feelings. They don't care about love. They care about credits and ratings and numbers, because that's all they're supposed to care about. Dave knows now that if the powers that be don't want him and Kurt to be together – that if they can't turn what they feel for each other into something somehow commercial, somehow useful to the wider worlds – then they never will be, regardless of what he does or doesn't do.

He knows all that now, he understand it. But that doesn't mean he has to accept it.

****


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, a Counters update! I know some of you thought it would never happen, but I promise that - however long it takes me - I will never abandon this story. Thank you all for your patience, queries and encouragement during the hiatus. Extra special thanks to Spookybibi for being an awesome, patient and endlessly encouraging beta and to Rubylis for gently prodding me back in the direction of this fic. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy being back in this world - I'd love to hear what you think (and to know that you're still reading)!
> 
> Warnings: Mature situations, drug use, mild dub con(ish).

 

"Well?"

Dave freezes at the sound of Santana's voice, tension knotting his shoulders as his eyes fall shut. He'd known almost instantly what his answer to her  _proposition_  would be, but that hadn't stopped him from spending a long, sleepless night flipping the options over in his mind.

He can hear the piercing chatter of others in the background, the refectory growing busy as fellow pedallers pile in to fuel up for the futile day ahead. He blinks and breathes in a long lungful of stagnant air before affecting business as usual behaviour, bending to reach for his Vita-Water and Wonderbar breakfast combo, arching his spine in an attempt to loosen tense muscles as he straightens. When he can't postpone it any longer, he turns away from the flashing fascia of the vendor to find her looking at him, hand on hip and brow raised high in unwearied anticipation of his answer. He holds back his urge to reply  _'Well, what?'_  just to piss her off. It doesn't feel appropriate though, not anymore.

He nods his head slowly instead. "I'm in," he says, a thick lump forming in his throat as he mouths the words.

An unhurried smile spreads across Santana's face, warm but not without a characteristically, comfortingly, wicked edge - she still has a rep to protect, after all - and moves in to bump her hip against his own. "Then I guess it's time to teach your talentless ass some sweet moves."

* * *

Kurt sits on the floor by the window in his room, watching the sunset, waiting to see what this one might hold. He still can't believe how much the view differs from night to night; how the azure sky sometimes softens to a dusty violet, how it sometimes warms and stretches to kiss a distant pink horizon and how, other times, the clouds thicken and roll, making the vast expanse of night sky fade simply to grey before turning an inevitable, endless black.

The unfailingly steady shift of simulated light in his pod hadn't prepared him for the reality; equal parts fascinating and terrifying in its unpredictability. It's nothing like he ever imagined it would be. But, well, nothing about being here really is.

His eyes flick to the chrono on his loaded dash - 20:26 – and to the open cache beside it. He watches as another two-four-six- _eight_ thousand credits bolster his digits to 1,498,500. He wants to be pleased every time he sees his credits multiply, because he knows it's a step closer to his goal, a step closer to being free of Puckerman and porn, but he can't muster any joy when he thinks of just what those twirling credits mean. He only hopes some of them are from Dave, even if he knows they can't all be.

He winces as the numbers flicker and change again: 1,502,500. He feels like he's losing a little part of his dignity with every newly gained credit.

"Here, I fixed you a plate. It's real chicken, not that soy-protein stuff you're used to."

It's Blaine's voice coming from the doorway behind him, but he doesn't turn around. "I'm not hungry," he says, because it's true. He feels sick to his stomach.

"You have to eat, Kurt," Blaine says, and there's the soft clunk of a plate being deposited on his nightstand, the creak of bedsprings dipping under new weight.

"I don't  _have_  to do anything." Kurt bites back, all the more aggrieved by the knowledge that his words aren't even remotely true.

"Okay, you're right," Blaine sighs, "But you  _should_  eat." A soft hand squeezes his shoulder, enough warmth and promise in the touch to make his skin crawl. "And you  _should_  watch your vid. You did great. You're a  _success,_ Kurt. You're a star."

Kurt doesn't reply, just jerks Blaine's hand away and continues to stare out into the gradually darkening sky.

"Have you checked your messages?"

"No."

"Then you should. We're shooting on the Scandals set together tomorrow, all three of us. We could run through some...stuff before that, if you want. While Seb's still here. It might be useful."

Kurt can't bring himself to answer. He has a fair idea of what kind of  _stuff_  Blaine is referring to, but unless he wants to run through his escape route from this place, it isn't going to be the kind of useful he needs. He stays silent, scrunches his eyes closed, until he hears Blaine stand, sigh, and leave the room.

What he needs now is to hear Dave's voice again, not Blaine's; Dave's words of reassurance, his promise that it'll all be okay. He'd give anything even just to see his Counter's artificially goofy grin and those big, more-brown-than-they-should be eyes.

 _'I don't expect you to wait for me...'_ Dave had said, at the end, before all of this really started, but Kurt had assured him, promised him, that he  _would_  wait. He never wanted to break that promise, but what choice does he have?

 _'You have to do this, okay? This is the only way to make sure we can be together.'_ Dave had said that too, and it's as true as it was then; maybe now more than ever.

He  _would_  understand that, right? That this is the only way, his only option, besides opting out. He remembers feeling so sure of that - so sure that Dave would know, that he would understand - for a fleeting moment, but now it's gone.

Kurt rests his temple against the cool glass and lets Dave's words continue to echo through his mind. He has until tomorrow to convince himself again and, if he doesn't manage that, he knows that the Compliance will do it for him.

Wrapping his arms around his bent knees, he goes back to watching the dulling sunset. It's grey tonight; the amber light of the sun clinging hopelessly to a blanket of gradually darkening, dissipating cloud. It seems fitting as he, too, clings impossibly to the remaining shards of light in his life; to his dignity, even as it continues to drip digitally away.

Still, he knows that he won't have to worry about that for very much longer. He's pretty sure that by the time they're through with him tomorrow, he won't have any dignity left to worry about.

* * *

They walk to the restroom together that afternoon, eyes darting across the empty corridor. It feels like they're on a covert mission. Az nods to signal it's all clear and stands to keep watch as they slip inside.

"Okay, show me what you can do," Santana instructs him and leans her ass back against the smooth ledge of a chrome sink.

"What do you mean 'what I can do'?"

"Show me how you dance."

Dave feels his hackles rise, his palms begin to sweat. Trust Santana to make this as difficult as possible. "I  _don't_. You know that."

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm doing this to help you, remember."

"I know that," he says with an exasperated sigh. He does know, and he does appreciate it, which is precisely why he's here at all. But that doesn't make it any easier.

"So  _try_ ," she orders, unfolding her arms and turning to activate the nearest mirrorscreen. She flicks through the menu until she finds what she's looking for and an all too familiar song starts to play. She eyes him with a smirk, "You just have to loosen up a little."

The song is the same one that backs almost all of Puck's Plays ads, that backed  _Kurt's_  Puck's Play ad; a rolling hip-hop beat with a slow, pulsating bass line. It prickles his skin, makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

"This isn't gonna work," he mutters, shaking his head and making for the door.

"But this isn't just about you, Davey. You have to make it work," she yells to be heard over the music, "For Kurt. For all of us."

That stops him in his tracks. He closes his eyes and sucks in a breath, wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs before turning to face her again. "Just tell me what I have to do."

"What would you normally do before a game?"

"Stretch, I guess?"

"So stretch," she says, and begins to roll her shoulders in time with the song, her hips starting to sway from side to side, "but do it with a little rhythm."

Dave watches her for a full minute before joining in. His muscles are tense as he begins to mimic her, his movements stiff and apprehensive under her dark, unwavering gaze.

"That's it, now just try to look like you don't have a stick up your ass."

He stills. "Fuck, 'Tana, this isn't eas—"

"You're about to put yourself out there in front of  _millions_ ," she cuts him off, arms raised high above her head, hips still rolling, "do you think that'll be easy?"

He shakes his head contritely.

"Then deal. A little lip from me is the least of your worries."

He knows she's right about that, too, and he knows it's stupid to be worried about embarrassing himself in front of Santana, in front of  _anyone_ , now. He has no place for pride, not anymore. Not with so much at stake.

"Just loosen up, move around," she encourages, smiling that small, borderline-sympathetic smile he's grown used to, "shake that ass, let Kurty-pie see what he's missing."

He closes his eyes and thinks of Kurt watching him, laughing at him, and he lets the rest go; when you've got no pride, you've got no shame, either. He thrusts his hips and waves his arms in time with Santana more than the music. He doesn't care what he looks like, this is all he's got to get him where he needs to be.

He knows that, when he's through, crappy dancing will be the last thing anyone remembers about him, anyway.

* * *

"It's only a dick, princess," Sebastian says, palming the crotch of his dark, skin-tight jeans, "You like dick, remember? It's kinda why you're here."

Kurt rolls his eyes but bites his tongue. He can't get into another slanging match with him; not when they're just about to go on set, not right before he has to have Sebastian grind up against him, has to put his hands on him, to pretend that he actually likes him  _and_  his dick.

"It'll be his first time doing this with other people, Sebastian," Blaine says, entering the room with an armful of assorted Compliance cartons, hair gelled to slick and shiny perfection, face subtly made-up, "give him a break."

"His first time with an  _audience_ ," Sebastian corrects with a smirk and looks at Blaine, grabbing two of the small, black cartons from his grip, "And he's lucky, he's getting to have twice as much fun as he's ever had before."

Kurt just stays silent, tries to tune them out, and lets his fingertips trace the outline of the same penguin pin he'd worn before, that he'd fought to wear again today, as a symbol for Dave, a sign, that he hasn't forgotten, despite what they might make him say. He's dressed all in white, this time - a thin, slim fitting shirt and too-tight pants - in contrast with the rich and varied tones of the other guys' outfits. The color is meant to be symbolic, too, it seems.

_"Ten minutes."_

The voice comes from beyond the vis-walls, like last time, and when Blaine offers him the carton of red Compliance, Kurt eagerly accepts. His gut still feels queasy with dread, but the drink is sweet and cool on his tongue, warm as it travels to his belly, and he sucks it down gratefully. He's ready to relent to it; for the tension to fade, for his skin to tingle and for his muscles to unknot. He's ready to let reason desert him. He's ready for this day to be  _over_.

He glances at the discarded script on the couch beside him.  _Seduction at Scandals_. It's mercifully minimal; just basic set directions and sparse, porn-standard dialogue. In this business, he guesses, actions speak louder than words.

He's not too sure, now, as heat suffuses his skin and inches up his spine, why he'd been so surprised and upset when he read it this morning. The scene they're about to play out is tame by  _Scandals_  standards; just boys in tight shirts grinding on a dance floor; just a conflicted virgin flattered by the duelling attention of two hot guys; just some dirty words and unbuttoned pants and a couple of eager-but-inexpert handjobs. It's apparently no big deal. And it's certainly no worse than he'd already imagined. At least he actually gets to keep his own pants on, this time.

He knows, anyway, that this will be nothing compared with what they - Puck, Blaine, Sebastian, the viewers - have in store for him eventually. It makes him think of the line that was in every breach notice he ever received - Officer Duplice talking at him, phoney words from a fake Guard Officer - _"Remember, you can watch Puck's Play stream at any time, secure in the knowledge that you're having fun but hurting no-one."_ He's not sure whether the memory makes him want to laugh or cry.

He takes another gulp of his drink, willing the last of his delusory hurt away as he tries not to hear Blaine boast about being so far ahead of Sebastian in the vote for his virginity. His stomach still knots at the thought of putting his hands on either of them at all, but  _both_  of them, at the same time….They're boyfriends — won't they mind, even a little? And David…what will he think? How would  _he_  feel if their roles were reversed? He'd already spent half the night awake and wondering just that.

"You okay?" Blaine asks, frowning with concern as he moves the thin pages of the script out of the way to sit down beside him on the vast black leather couch that fills half of the dressing room, body angled inwards, a little too close for comfort.

What is he supposed to say? No-one here is really interested in the truth. It won't help any of them. He shakes his head anyway, "I just…I don't know how you ever get used to this."

"Well, you do," Blaine smiles and rests a warm palm high on Kurt's thigh, "you  _will_. I promise."

Sebastian's eyes hone in on Blaine's hand and his smile drops. "You just have to," he says flatly.

"It's only acting, Kurt. Everyone knows that." Blaine attests, his thumb running slow strokes along Kurt's thigh in a way that's starting to make his skin tingle with heat.

"I don't think I can be that good of an actor," he huffs in response and shifts to cross his legs, causing Blaine's hand to slip away. He's ashamed to realise that he feels instantly cold at the loss.

_"Five minutes."_

"Fuck, seriously?" Sebastian laughs bitterly, leaning back against a blank, white vis-wall. "You're doing a pretty good job of acting like a sweet, innocent little virgin right now."

"I'm not—"

"How about you save the rest of the performance for the cameras, huh?"

"Quit it, Seb."

"What?" Sebastian asks, eyes wide with feigned innocence as he looks first at Blaine then Kurt. His eye narrow again, "You're no different than the rest of us, you know. We're all  _g_ etting paid to get laid here. And don't forget, we've seen you perform already and you  _certainly_  looked like you were enjoying your work, so—"

"That's because he's talented," Blaine interjects.

Kurt's eyes widen with incredulity even as his head starts to swim. He lets out an unintentional almost-laugh, "That's because I was out of my head on Compliance!"

"So drink up and stop whining," Sebastian says.

Kurt's feels his blood bubble. "Just because this is your dream job doesn't make it mine," he spits.

"This isn't anyone's dream, Kurt," he replies with a sad little shake of his head and a world-weary smile.

"Then why are you being such a…such a royal douchebag to me? Haven't you ever felt afraid? Haven't you ever been forced into doing something you really didn't want to have to do?"

Sebastian's face sobers for a fraction of a second before his trademark smirk returns, enraging Kurt all the more.

"Maybe you just don't know what it's like to actually  _care_ about anything other than getting kicks for credits, to give a damn about someone other than yourself. Maybe you don't care—"

"I care," Sebastian cuts in, unheeded by Kurt, eyes flitting temporarily back to Blaine.

"—What your boyfriend or your  _family_ might think of you, but—"

"Stop, Kurt," Blaine interrupts, hand returning the same cool spot on Kurt's thigh, squeezing lightly, "Sebastian just doesn't remember what it's like."

"Why not?" Kurt asks, his suddenly tear-bleary eyes momentarily fixed on Blaine's tan hand against the white cotton of his jeans before he manages to draw his gaze up and away.

"He doesn't really remember much of anything about...before."

Sebastian gives Blaine a dirty, disappointed look and says quietly, "Let's just say that I'd rather live in the moment than dwell on the past."

Kurt huffs, clinging to his irritation despite the lightness he feels at the base of his skull. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I chose  _not_  to be a victim, it means that I found a way to deal and—"

_"One minute."_

"It means," Blaine butts in, again, looking sternly at Sebastian even as his thumb continues to stroke distractingly warm lines through the fabric of Kurt's pants, "that he drank too much black Compliance to take away the pain and it made everything else kind of…fade away."

Kurt blinks up at him, silent as he tries to assimilate the information in Blaine's words.

"You should try it sometime," Sebastian looks at Kurt and starts towards the exit, waving the empty black carton at him before throwing it into the trash, "It might help you forget about the stick up your ass."

* * *

Dave lies on top of his bed, stripped to his shorts, watching the broken image on his vis-wall through gritted teeth as the pod around him darkens towards lights out, blue fading towards a welcoming blanket of black.

It's a little after nine when the alert tone chimes and startles him out of his thoughts; he's not used to that sound anymore, not since Kurt left, and it hurts to realise that it still fills him with an involuntary, fleeting pang of hope.

_'_ **_Are you practicing?'_ **

The message appears on the vis-wall above his bed alongside Santana's foot-tapping Counter.

He appreciates her concern, her encouragement or whatever it is, though he's done all the practicing he's going to do today. That part's just a distraction, anyway, and she knows that as well as he does. Maybe she knows that's all any of this is.

Before he can swipe at his dash to close his inbox, Santana's Counter twirls and jumps before sticking out its tongue.  **'** ** _You better be practicing.'_**

The nostalgia he feels at the sight is almost enough to make him smile.

 **'Hard at it,'**  he replies, not bothering to sit up as he motions towards the panel on his dash, programming his Counter to do the running man upon delivery.

**_'Good boy. And have you bought your Star Shit ticket?'_ **

Dave sighs and closes his eyes.

He hasn't bought it, yet. Though he's not sure what he's waiting for.

He's been counting the days, hours, minutes and every single credit it would take to get him to this moment since he got back from the edge without Kurt, but now that Santana's given him what he wanted - the chance to skip forward in time, to beat the system in some small way, at least - here he is, delaying the inevitable, watching Star Shot (for research, he tells himself) instead of biting the bullet and enrolling for the show itself.

He's scared, he can admit that. Not of making a fool of himself or of telling the truth, not anymore, but of failing in spite of it. He's scared that they won't listen to him, that he'll never get to see Kurt again, that he'll let Santana down, that he'll make everything worse, for all of them. He's scared of wasting what he knows will be his one chance.

' **Not yet,'**  he sits up and taps at the panel on his dash, pausing for a second when Puckerman's face fills the main screen of his pod, as the fucker leers at another poor, delusional pedaller on the Star Shot stage,  **'but I will."**

* * *

"That was fun," Blaine giggles, hand gripping Kurt's arm tightly to keep them both upright as they stumble back towards Sebastian's dressing room, "I  _told_  you it'd be fun."

Kurt's throat feels too dry to speak. His legs feel shaky. His muscles feel loose and coiled tight all at the same time as he slides out of Blaine's grip and flops down onto the couch.

"Here," Sebastian yells from the bathroom door and a pack of sani-wipes land on his lap, "at least clean yourself up before the buggy gets here."

"I'll help you," Blaine says and drops to his knees in front of him, an easy, sated smile painting his still-flushed face.

Kurt doesn't decline the offer, just sits and watches as Blaine, still shirtless, leans back on his heels and extracts a wipe from the pack. He knows he's dirty; he feels it, outside and in. There's a distant, indistinct murmur of caution clawing its way towards the front of his consciousness, fighting its way through the soft miasmic haze, as Blaine begins to wipe the cooling, intermingled come - his own and Sebastian's - from his fingers, his exposed chest, one of his cheeks, but he doesn't have the strength to pay attention to it and anyway, it feels a little late.

He'd felt his hips move of their own accord as they danced, out there, his senses heightened but somehow degraded, at once beyond his control and beneath his contempt. When he'd felt foreign hands guide his own to familiar (but not  _really_ ) territory, he'd sunk to his knees and closed his eyes and let it happen.

"I can help you with this, too, if you want," Blaine purrs and strokes his fingers from Kurt's damp bellybutton to the lingering bulge in his pants. He can feel the steady throb of want in his veins, pulsing and reverberating through his body; the echo of a beat that's no longer playing. He blinks down at Blaine, who's looking at him with pretty, hazel eyes through a fan of dark lashes, teeth bared as he smiles, as he bites down on his plump, pink bottom lip. Blaine strokes, for a second time, an adept hand over the outline of Kurt's cock and hums under his breath.

It would be so easy to accept his offer, Kurt thinks, hips bucking involuntarily into his touch. So easy to imagine softer eyes tinged with honeyed green, to imagine a bigger hand, a deeper voice. It's only a matter of time before he has to, anyway…

"No," he hears himself say before he thought he'd made up his mind, and he repeats it over and over again, more sure of his answer with every syllable, as he stands and faces his own debauched reflection. This would be different; he's still lousy with Compliance, but he knows that much. With no lens watching and no distant voice guiding their actions, this wouldn't be for Puck's Play, for Dave to watch and maybe enjoy. This would be for  _him_ , and that's not what he wants at all.

"If that's all you're worried about, we'll call it practice," Blaine says, answering what Kurt thought had been his own, internal protestations. "You've seen the vote, it'll be me and you anyway. And if we play it right, we could be the next  _Play_  power pairing," he joins him in front of the mirror and smiles. "Look at us, Kurt. Don't we look great together? They can see that; my fans,  _your_  fans, Puck. That's why he sent you to me, I know it is," he snakes an arm around Kurt's waist and pulls him in close, "and a little practice will make it perfect when the time comes—"

"I don't want to, it would be different. I have David..."

"But he's not here, Kurt. And I am," Blaine's hand dips to squeeze Kurt's ass and he turns so his lips graze the lobe of his ear wetly as he adds, "he'd understand, it'd just be bros helping bros."

"No," Kurt says again and pushes weakly at Blaine's chest. He feels his stomach swoop, hears the distant swell of alarm bells even as the remainder of his Compliance-fuelled arousal threatens his resolve.

"Jesus, Blaine, he said no," he hears Sebastian curse as he reappears from the bathroom, naked but for a towel around his hips, skin damp and glistening in the light, as he yanks at Blaine's wrist, and lowers his voice to growl, "and I do too."

Kurt sits back down on the couch, buttoning his stained shirt and willing his unwelcome erection away. He just wants the buggy to come and take him home. He wants to lock himself away from the world for a while. He wants to sleep, to forget.

"I won't let you hold me back again, Sebastian," Blaine says with an odd, unwavering smile, "You don't own me."

"No, I don't," he agrees and lets go of Blaine's wrist, takes a step back and looks briefly at Kurt with something that looks a lot like pity before eyeing Blaine again and adding, "Puck does."

* * *

Dave checks Kurt's content page on the Puck's Play stream, just like he does every night before lights out, never quite sure if he's hoping for something new or dreading the possibility that there might be.

**_*Updated! Sweet Seduction at Scandals - Watch Kurt take his 'fate' into his own hands. Play now: 20,000C*_ **

He loads the new vid and watches what he can stomach, more numb to it than he was the first time, though he knows he'll never be numb enough for it not to hurt.

Dave tries to take in the simple sight of him, as beautiful as ever despite his sad, imitation smile. He gets as far as seeing Blaine unbutton Kurt's shirt and Sebastian grind a painfully obvious erection against his ass before he has to switch it off, the anger in him rising, his scarred fist itching with it, threatening to break more than just his resolve.

There's a time and a place for that, though, and now that the fear he felt has turned back to pure, familiar fury he knows just what he'd been waiting for.

He knows what he has to do, and exactly why he has to do it.

He leaves Puck's Play stream and loads the Star Shot content in its place, smiling, despite the hot tears he feels sting his eyes, as his credits disappear and a familiar golden ticket appears in his Counter's hands.

He manages to send a hurried message to Santana before the warning alert sounds and the light in his pod fades to black:  **'Star Shit, here comes the fury.'**


End file.
